Fragments
by amortentia1992
Summary: When everything goes wrong and you feel the pieces of your soul shatter, How do you survive in a world you no longer recognize? For Hermione, she writes it all down.
1. How do you Survive the Cold?

**A/N: the newest addition to my works. please be sure to read the warnings as this is a dark fic. I hope you all enjoy. If you don't like then please don't read. Fancast for Rabastan is James Franco. Thanks you to VenomandVine for betaing this. To my readers, please note that in most cases the chapter will be posted before being edited and edits will be updated in shortly after it goes live, so that I can keep my posting on schedule.**

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 **Warnings:** **This is a Mature fic not intended for readers under 18. It will contain themes of rape/non-consensual, coerced/forced marriage, dub-con, graphic sexual content, possible themes of self-harm, substance use/abuse, mature language and scenes of a generally violent nature. I do not post trigger notes in chapters so please be mindful of these themes listed here and read at your own risk.**

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How do You Survive the Cold?

Hermione struggled to move her limbs, they had become so stiff huddled up as she was in the dank prison cell. She had initially tried to count the days, but the cold, damp air that seemed to seep into her very soul made her lose track of them. At some point, since her arrival, there was nothing the witch could focus on other than the cold.

When Harry had died in the battle, and that monster had won the war, she had been remanded to Azkaban until which time a suitable purpose for mudbloods was found. She never expected she would ever see the light of day again, she was Hermione Granger, Potter's mudblood, undesirable number 2. She was certain that would die in the cold, dark, dungeon cell.

What purpose could she ever serve in this new world? The thought of being enslaved by the very people she had fought against made the witch curl up into a ball under the flimsy scrap of material that was meant to be a blanket. Though it couldn't really be called that. She had no idea how long she'd been in this hell. Every time she had a cohesive thought she prayed that she could just die so it would all be over soon. Merlin she prayed for the kiss, surely that would be better than rotting here alone.

The truth was, there was no longer many cohesive thoughts from the witch, the cold seemed to have frozen her mind, and the witch couldn't face the reality of her situation. Her best friends had died. The side of the war she fought on had lost. She was a criminal in the new order and she was living in a 3 by 3 foot cell on an island prison in the middle of the sea. Her days were spent curled up in a corner with her knees pressed to her chest. Her arms were usually wrapped around her legs to hold them as she laid on the thin, worn down mattress to avoid the dementors. She hardly moved, didn't eat, and she stared into the darkness blindly, unable to see. All she felt was the cold. There were of course the regular visits. Guards who were lonely, or depraved, who targeted the female prisoners for some comfort. During the rapes, she laid there like a stone statue and counted the seconds until she could be alone. She was conscious, but detached from her own existence. There were rare moments when her fight returned to her, but with nothing to fight for she was broken. It was easier to think of nothing than to focus on the miserable state she now inhabited, and the hopelessness of ever recovering to the point that she could be her true self again.

It was unusual then for the witch that the clanging and creaking sound that was inevitably the metal door to her cell block opening would cause the witch to try and move, an uncommon moment of consciousness. Hermione knew what came with the sound of the door, and freezing and broken-down she couldn't bring herself to care, but that day the witch was able to think, able to concentrate more on the cold, and she would be damned if she would lay still while she was raped again.

Unfortunately her muscles didn't want to cooperate. They were stiff and sore, moving them felt as though she were breaking every bone in her arms just to peel them away from her legs. She cried out in agonizing pain. She was about to give up when she heard the heavy footsteps, slowly stalking towards her cell. She fought harder to move and stretched her legs out before her with a strangled hiss, just as the footsteps stopped at her door.

Afraid, the witch didn't look up, she didn't want to see who the tormentor would be this time, not when she knew that she couldn't fight them off. The clink of the metal key twisting in the lock sounded and with a bang the metal bars opened to allow her assaulter access.

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Rabastan stiffened his shoulders when he landed from his aparation at the place he only knew as his own personal hell. Azkaban, the place he had rotted in for years and the last place on the earth he ever wanted to return to, free man or not. It was not a welcome sight, but it was his mission to fulfill.

He had asked for his prize, much to the horror, shock, and disgust of some of the others. But he'd made his reasons known well enough, and been granted his wish by his master. The girl he had claimed to be his bride currently resided within the depths of this hellhole, and he was here to collect her and bring her away from the place.

He was sure he had his work cut out for him by claiming Hermione Granger to be his wife. He smirked at the thought, having admired her feistiness, and looked forward to taming it. After the war the girl had been taken here. Nobody really knew what to do with her. Mudbloods were being killed, enslaved, and banished all over the place, but she was so much more than a normal mudblood. She was powerful. She was brave. She was exquisite. The was only the small problem that she had been Potter's brains.

She couldn't have simply been banished, too many of the order had already escaped, and she was too intelligent and too hung up in the battle to simply disappear. She would continue to fight if she were left to her own devices. Likewise, the witch was too useful to be killed. It would be a waste of her potential to have her executed or enslaved, so this left his master with a conundrum. She was sent to live in the prison until something could be figured out to do with her.

And Rabastan had, probably for the first time in his life, felt actual fear and empathy for the witch. Having been in Azkaban himself, having faced the dementors, the endless cold, the misty dampness and the isolation, it wasn't a fate he wished on anyone, least of all a witch he actually admired. So, the day they carted her away from the ruins of the battle at Hogwarts, he vowed to himself he would find a way to get her out, and he would find a way to make her his. And so he had done.

It had been a year, but he had proven himself in those twelve months and earned a request to be granted by the dark lord. He wasn't the only one to have been given such an opportunity, and the others had asked for power, property, or position, Rabastan had asked for a wife. His reasoning was with Bellatrix dead, and Rodolphous uninterested in taking another wife, that Rabastan was the last hope for carrying on the family name. When asked why he couldn't choose a pureblooded bride, he answered simply that he didn't want to risk a marriage, a binding marriage, on a woman who might not be able to reproduce. One thing was for certain, dirty as their blood may be, mudbloods had no trouble conceiving and carrying to term, and it wasn't like they wouldn't be considered pure. One word from Voldemort, as all but king his word was law, and Hermione would be considered a pureblood, provided a dowry and her parentage would be erased. Nobody would be able to question his children's lineage then, and he would have the witch he had wanted since he had his arms wrapped around her at the siege in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. As long as he was able to control her.

However, his request having been granted meant he had to come back to this hellhole to retrieve her. This place was still the setting of his worst nightmares. Blocking out the worst of the memories and disallowing himself from reliving the fear he experienced here as an inmate, he stomped down the gloomy halls towards the reception desk, the sound of his heavy black boots echoing off the stone halls.

"Lestrange." The guard greeted as he approached the desk. Rabastan grunted and shoved the rolled scroll at him. The man had been a rookie guard when he was a prisoner, and he had been a cruel, ruthless bastard to the prisoners he was charged with. Rabastan hadn't forgotten and given half the change would repay him in kind one day. But now was not that time.

"Remanded Mudblood Granger to your custody, this says. He finally found a use for her?"

"She is to be my wife." Rabastan said thinly in as few words as possible. The guard laughed and when he glanced at the scowl Rabastan shot him paled considerably.

"Not joking then. Well let's go get her." The guard replied, grabbed the keys and led Rabastan deeper into the fortress.

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Hermione whimpered when the cell door slid open. It was only a small sound, one of few she made these days, but just that small sound was a shout to the otherwise quiet walls. She had realized some time ago that she was the only inhabitant in this ward, she was truly and utterly alone. Except for the visits.

The chuckle that interrupted her choked whimper made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. She forced herself to move her body in an attempt to get away, but she was too weak to successfully fight of the guard. She quickly found herself pinned to the mattress, as the guard softly whispered to her. She realized that, of all her tormentors, this was the gentler of them, the one that talked to her during, not that she ever replied.

"Come now, be a good lass. Just lay back and think of England like you usually do." He said as he began fumbling with his belt.

She shook her head fiercely and tried to push him off, but the stronger guard easily pinned her hands above her head with just one of his, even as he tugged down her thin, cotton, uniformed pants.

The door to the cellblock at the end of the hall opened. Hermione could tell because it made the same clanking sound she associated with rape. She was like one of Pavlov's dogs, the sound of that door opening now meant that she was receiving a visit, and since the visits were sexual assaults on her person, if the door opened, she suffered.

Immediately the witch whimpered again, fearing that another one of the guards was coming to join in. She receded into her own mind and began counting, counting until the ordeal would be finished. One, two, three, four, five. The guard on top of her had just freed his own erect cock from the constraints of his pants when she suddenly felt him pulled violently off of her. She curled herself back up into her usual position. They would have to peel her limbs and stretch her out if they wanted access to her again. A fact she knew was all too possible and even easy for them, but it was the only defense she had, and she would be damned if she didn't try.

"The prisoner is no longer an inmate of Azkaban," the voice of her cruelest guard, the one she called warden, directed the statement at the other guard, but he hadn't been the one to pull him off of her. She waited for the further explanation. "Lestrange here now owns her and is removing her from the premise." Hermione stilled. Fear crept into the depths of her very soul. She wouldn't be in Azkaban anymore, but, she was being enslaved by one of the Lestrange brothers and they hated her, so her life with one of them wouldn't be much better…

"You've dared to touch what is mine." The masculine growl sounded, she still couldn't identify which brother it was. "Now you must be punished. Crucio."

"The guard that would have been her most recent rapist, collapsed on the ground and began to scream. She counted how long it lasted. It was her defense against reliving the curse herself as she could do nothing more than hear the guard suffer. One, two, three… Seven, eight, nine… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven… Finally at 30 it was over. Hermione was shaking now, out of fear or from the cold she wasn't sure. More likely than not, it was both.

"I'll be taking the girl now." Came the voice again. Then she was being lifted, scooped into strong arms away from the mattress, and out of the cell. The first thing that came to mind when she was pulled into the man's chest was warmth. The wizard radiated warmth. After unending cold and torment for merlin knows how long, Hermione didn't care who it was that had just picked her up or what came next, she just relaxed into the warmth and soon after lost consciousness.

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It was a week before she became fully conscious again. When he had found her, Rabastan had been pissed to see her being assaulted as she was, but his anger soon crossed the threshold between upset to livid when he saw the state his future bride was in.

The witch weighed no more than ninety-five pounds, was made up of skin and bones, and was clearly quite ill, pneumonia, as he would discover when he got her back to Malfoy manor, as well as quite filthy. He had not been expecting her to be in pristine shape, he was well aware that the conditions of the prison were not conducive to cleanliness or great health, but it was beyond clear that the witch had been severely neglected.

The wedding would have to be postponed. In the week that she was in and out of sleep, they had managed to heal her sickness and get small amounts of broth and water into her, but there was no way the witch was out of the clear yet. She would live, but she needed to recover before she could handle any more stress.

The wizard was sitting in a chair across from her bed, he had been dozing slightly, not really asleep, still aware of the surroundings, but not awake enough to keep his eyes open. A sound of rustling sheets caused him to pop his eyes open, and immediately he realized the witch was struggling to sit up in bed. He rose to help her and propped her up with some pillows.

She just looked at him, the fear and confusion evident in her soft amber colored eyes. He backed away and put up his hands in an effort to show he meant no harm. Not yet, at least.

"My name is Rabastan Lestrange." He introduced himself, but felt like an idiot. She had fought against him in a war, she likely knew who he was, but he had said his name anyway. "I'm now providing for your care. Do you know who you are?" Again he felt stupid, but the witch had endured a lot and he needed to know exactly how to care for her and where to start.

She slowly nodded her head in the affirmative and tried to open her mouth to speak. It took some time and he vaguely wondered how long it had been since she had. "Mudblood." She managed a moment later, in only a hoarse, harsh whisper. He winced, and tried to hold his temper so as not to scare her, her stay in the hellhole had broken her more than he had thought. The witch he knew of would never refer to herself as mudblood.

"No," he replied. "Do you know your name?" he reached for a glass of water that was by her bedside and offered it to her. She greedily gulped down the cool liquid.

"Hermione." She croaked when she had finished the glass.

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

"No. I was in Azkaban, but it is too warm here for this to be that place." She replied.

"You are currently a guest in Malfoy Manor. Lady Malfoy has graciously been helping me care for you. You were quite ill." Rabastan stated.

"Why?" Hermione whispered.

"Your health deteriorated because of your treatment in prison," he responded.

"No," she said, "Why am I here? I was supposed to die there."

"You were brought here because I was granted with your care and your life."

"Slave." The witch said hatefully. It wasn't a question.

"No, you are not to be my slave. I did all I could to get you out of that place, and when I was granted a wish, I requested you."

"Why?" she croaked again.

"I need a wife and I need an heir." Rabastan stated honestly and saw her gaze narrow.

"But I'm a mudblood." She replied.

"We'll see." He replied. "In any case the wedding won't occur until you are better."

The witch turned her head sullenly to one side, and refused to look at him. He bit the side of his cheek and sighed deeply.

"I won't treat you unkindly." He began, but she still wouldn't engage him further. "Your health and wellbeing is important to me."

"Only so you can get your heir," she spat out at him. "I'll be disposable after that." She wasn't wrong he thought wryly, at least compared to anybody else who would use her for the same gains. But Rabastan had wanted this witch for some time. The first time she had battled him he was attracted to her and her spirit, and he knew she would make a good wife.

He was determined to gain that spirit back, because it was clear that while the embers of her spark were still within her, the past year had burned most of it out and he would have to rekindle it. He wasn't going to dump her once he had her and an heir, she would be his wife and treated with the respect all Lestrange wives were due. He just couldn't reveal that to her yet.

"I'll send Narcissa in with some broth for you and she can answer any questions you may have." He growled out at her before he stomped out of the room and slammed the door closed behind him, locking it.


	2. How do You Erase Your Past?

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and favorites on Chapter 1 alone. I'm glad to see that you are all enjoying the story. Just a note: I do have a beta for this fic, Kait. We are still developing the best method for this story so it may sometimes be posted before editing and sometimes may be edited before posting depending on what happens. I will be keeping on a schedule with this, so please bare with me as we figure out the best course of action. Chapter 2 is already completely edited, FYI. That said, I extend a heartfelt thanks to venomandvinewood for being my new beta for Fragments. I hope you all enjoy the next chapter.**

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How do You Erase Your Past?

It had been three weeks since the day she first awoke to discover that she really was out of Azkaban. While she was fighting off the pneumonia and whatever else she had that was keeping her down, she struggled in and out of wakefulness, but never enough to be truly aware. She had thought she was perhaps only dreaming, but now she knew she was not. She had to admit, she was being carefully cared for. She was fed no less than three times a day, provided with appropriate clothing, and clean. She sort of felt like a doll though, because none of it was of her own volition. The elves laid her clothes chosen for her by Narcissa out daily and they did her hair. She didn't get a choice in what she was fed but was glad that it had finally progressed to more solid food over the broth she had been served for weeks.

She wasn't treated unkindly, she was given answers to her questions, but she was locked in her room, for her safety she was told. Rabastan visited her almost daily. Narcissa had explained that at this point in their relationship he was courting her, so the visits were chaperoned and meant for them to get to know one another. However, there were still endless hours where she was alone. And when she was alone she remembered.

Hermione remembered her parents, what it was like when she was a little girl. She remembered growing up, learning she was a witch and meeting her friends in school. She also remembered the war, the same friends and allies she had fought with side by side and having seen them die in battle. However, she had detached herself from these thoughts for so long that the sudden rush of memories was painful. What would Harry and Ron think of her now? She was grateful to be living in Malfoy manor and being cared for? Would they hate her, or would they understand that after Azkaban, anywhere would be like heaven, and she was especially pampered here.

She tried and tried to detach herself once more, she felt guilty because she actually liked being here. She didn't mind that she might have to sell her soul if it meant warmth, hearty meals, and clothing instead of the numbing cold and wet mist she had suffered for far too long. The guilt hurt, it physically hurt her. She couldn't stand to be alone because, she couldn't bare the judgment she passed on herself while reliving her past.

She kept repeating in her mind her future husband's comment that they would see about her being a mudblood. She was perplexed by it, what did he mean by it? It was a fact, she was muggle-born, she couldn't change that she was born to muggles, raised by muggles. It was the truth. Her question was answered when her betrothed came to see her that day. Narcissa had been overly giddy that morning, so she knew something was going on, and she wasn't sure she was going to like it.

"I have something for you." He stated, after he greeted her with a hug. She didn't like when he did that, despised his touch actually, but she had been coolly informed by Narcissa that it was custom, she was to marry this man and it was expected for him to greet her in such a manor. Hermione was just hung up on the fact that she was supposed to hate this man, and felt odd because she didn't. Had it been too long since she had curled up in the arms of Harry and Ron in their tent that the masculine feel of his arms around her felt strangely good, even though her mind screamed at her that he was a deatheater?

"What?" Hermione replied. The wizard handed her a rolled scroll that was closed firmly by a circular wax crest.

"This my dear, is your newfound status and pardon, signed, sealed and delivered." Rabastan remarked.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he countered and she did, breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment to skim over the contents.

 _Let it be proclaimed that hereby Ms. Hermione Granger (to be Lestrange) is officially pardoned for her acts in the war on the side of the order. From this point forward all charges against her are expunged and time has been served as punishment so there will be no other actions taken against her. Furthermore, Ms. Granger's status as mudblood is hereby revoked. As the future mistress of House Lestrange, as wife to none other than Mr. Rabastan Lestrange heir apparent, her unfortunate upbringing is overlooked by the powers that be._

 _Ms. Granger is now considered a pureblood, as the House of Lestrange has made a bid for her and the House of Malfoy had agreed to claim guardianship of her until the time that she is wed. Ms. Granger has been allotted a dowry of 50,000 galleons to be fulfilled at the time of her wedding, as well as her own vault and annual allowance of 15,000 galleons and the properties of the Paris condo and the vineyard in Florence, Italy as her own personal estates, to be paid to her by her guardians._

 _Any witch or wizard who questions this proclamation is to be punished with a six month stay in Azkaban should they speak out or act against Ms. Granger in anyway. Likewise should Ms. Granger attempt to reject her newfound status or flee from her guardians or in any way attempt to get out of her marriage the pardon will be revoked and she will be remanded into the custody of Azkaban once more._

The document was signed Lord Voldemort, and as she finished reading it the parchment slipped from Hermione's fingers.

"You have got to be kidding me." She said.

"I assure you, I am not. You are now a pureblood officially and legally. Nobody can question it." Her future husband explained.

"You can't seriously expect me to accept this, to reject my parents?"

"Au contraire ma petite, I do expect that. The muggles who raised you are gone, they are not here to claim you and in fact there is no longer any evidence that a John and Jean Granger ever even existed. You are now considered the niece of the Malfoy family, and have been granted every appropriate luxury that comes with the title, you as of now, are not, nor ever have been, a muggle-born."

"You can't just erase my whole past!" Hermione yelled at him.

"I just did." Rabastan sneered. "And if you recall, attempting to reject or counter it will be a one-way ticket back to hell. Do you want that to happen?"

Hermione shuddered at the thought. She had turned her back to him, but she shook her head. "No." she whispered.

"Then start considering your new status as reality."

"I don't know how." She countered.

"Then I suggest you ask your Aunt Narcissa." Rabastan goaded her. "I bid you good day, ma Cherie."

"Good day, sir." She replied in kind. Narcissa would have thrown a fit, in fact she did after the first "official" meeting with her betrothed. Any proper witch would refer to her betrothed as sir, or my lord, until they were married and even then, in public, call her husband my lord, or husband. She insisted that Hermione begin to do so immediately.

"Oh, before I forget." Rabastan paused in the doorway and turned back to her, "the wedding will be next weekend." And with those parting words he disappeared from view. A moment later, Narcissa entered the room having been standing just outside the door as a chaperone.

"Isn't it exciting news, darling girl?" Cooed the elder witch as she fussed about.

"I wouldn't use those words." Hermione replied.

"Oh hush." Narcissa admonished. "Of course it is." It seemed that as she had made her mind up, that it had been decided and Hermione honestly didn't have the energy to fight her on it. She chose not to reply instead.

"Seeing as you are now my niece, I will, ensure of course that you have the proper attire for a woman of your station." The witch was saying.

"Narcissa, I don't think that you will be able to dress me after my wedding." Hermione replied.

"You must call me Aunt Cissa dear," her companion remarked. "You are correct, of course, which is why over the next twelve days we will have to assemble you an appropriate wardrobe of your own. You will be moving into Lestrange Hall after the ceremony. It would just be unseemly for you to stay there before the bonding."

"So you keep saying."

"I have a little engagement gift for you my dear." Her 'Aunt' said having chosen to ignore Hermione's snarky comeback. "Of course, it's not officially an engagement until the gala Saturday, seven days before the wedding, but I thought it would be nice to give them to you early." Hermione was handed a small parcel, neatly tied with a green silk ribbon she was fairly certain could have been one of Lucius's hair accessories.

Carefully she undid the bow and neatly unwrapped the package to reveal an antique carved wooden box. She opened the lid. Inside was a quill from an eagle owl, a pot of onyx hued ink, and two books. One was a small, worn looking tome which was titled _Charms Every Good Witch Should Know_. The other was a brown, bound book of blank parchment. It was, Hermione realized, a diary.

"Thank you Aunt Cissa." Hermione gasped out. It was perhaps the first genuine feeling of awed gratitude she had felt in a long time. She closed the lid of the box and set it on the dresser before enfolding the other witch in a hug, shocking them both.

"Think nothing of it dear girl. It's a tradition in Pureblood families, usually the mother would bestow it, but, seeing as you are my ward and you are the closest thing to a daughter I will have, it will have to do. Most married witches keep a journal, it's used for all sorts of things, recipes, family secrets, memory keeping, whatever you wish, It's all charmed so only you can read it and so that it never runs out of pages. The little black book, as I call it, is a tradition to. It's a book of helpful charms, from simple hair remedies to household necessities and even bedroom shall we say helpers. I wanted you to have it as you start your new life."

"Still, I thank you."

"You are welcome. You should rest now my dear, you have had quite an afternoon. I'll send one of the elves up to help you get ready for dinner later, you will eat with us in the dining room."

"Wait, am I no longer a prisoner then?"

"No child!" Narcissa exclaimed in horror. "You never were. We simply needed to keep you here for your own protection, but now... now you are a ward, an extension of this family, and free to roam the manor as you wish."

"Oh." Was all Hermione could say. Narcissa shot her one last small smile before she shut the door to leave the younger witch with her thoughts. Hermione had mixed feelings on Narcissa's last statement. Dinner, in the dining room, with everybody wasn't the most appealing notion to her, but on the other hand it would be nice to finally leave the suite she had been occupying for the last several weeks. It may be a nice and luxurious room, but with a locked door it didn't matter how nice the cell, it was still just a prison. Now she had the opportunity for more freedom. The witch sighed deeply and reopened the box to examine the bound little diary and quill set. Immediately, the witch knew what she would use her own for. She was going to write it down. Her own personal survival guide to her new life. Because here she was stuck in a new regime, surrounded by people she didn't like, depending on the care of said people, and she had no idea who she even was, anymore, much less how she would cope with all of this. So she would write down all her thoughts and feelings and advice to herself so that every time she forgot how to breathe she could look there for answers. Perhaps, it wasn't the best strategy for survival, but for now, it was the only idea Hermione had. She picked up the white quill and slowly began to recount her experience from Azkaban and the last several weeks.

* * *

Rabastan walked back up the stairs of the manor, clean shaven and hair still damp from his recent shower. When he had left his future bride earlier that afternoon, he had been annoyed by her reaction. He would have thought she would be more grateful for his procurement of a pardon for her. A pardon meant that she wouldn't face any more punishment, or enslavement like the other survivors of the order did, but she had been cross about it and he was irritated at that.

So, he had been in the card room with a few of his friends and they had been drinking. The wizard, learned only after his third glass of Ogden's that his bride to be was going to be joining them for dinner. On a normal occasion he wouldn't have cared, but he realized that this would be Hermione's first exposure to a pureblooded dinner and he didn't want to give her the wrong impression, annoyed with her or not.

So, that is why he had cleaned himself up and even taken a sobering potion and now found himself trussed up in a neat suit as he knocked on her door. A moment passed before it opened and revealed his witch. She was dressed formally, Narcissa's influence he assumed, and looked really nice in her black lace gown and silver heels. As etiquette would dictate, she, aside from a pair of sapphire studs in her ears, was unadorned in jewelry. It was traditional that an engaged woman only wore jewelry that her betrothed provided for her.

"Good evening, Hermione." Rabastan greeted.

"Sir." She nodded once.

"You look very pretty, ma Cherie."

"Thank you." Hermione replied.

"I have brought something else for you to wear." He said as he extracted two velvet boxes from his jacket pocket.

He opened the first one, it was a silver snake that was meant to be a bracelet. "This is a betrothal set, it is only able to be removed by me, but it's a protection charm as well as a location tracker. As long as you wear it, I will be able to know where you are and know that if any harm would come your way, you will be safe." He said as he clasped it around her wrist. The snake opened its mouth to swallow its tail before clamping down and locking in place.

"I figured there would be some catch to my freedom." Hermione said dully. "It's a very pretty bracelet sir." She added, sincerely. He didn't comment on her sarcastic reply. He honestly couldn't blame her for feeling that way, but the bracelet had been in his family for centuries, most Lestrange women had worn it, it wasn't offered to her as a way to limit her freedom. He opened the smaller box and revealed a custom, goblin made, silver, 17 karat diamond ring, her engagement ring. She gasped at it.

"And a ring to signify your status as my future wife." He said.

"It's beautiful."

"I had it made for you, your own beauty in mind."

"Thank you, Rabastan." Hermione said slipping up and calling him by his given name. "I mean, my Lord."

Rabastan smirked. "I won't tell, don't worry." He chuckled. "Your welcome ma petite, shall we head to dinner?"

"I suppose we shall." She said and took his offered arm.

He led her down to the dining room, and when they walked in every pureblooded male stood. It was only dinner for those that resided in the manor at this point, excluding the dark lord of course, who never ate at meals. Thorfinn Rowle, Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Lucius and Draco Malfoy, and Mulciber, first name as yet unknown, were present. Hermione seemed surprised that the wizards received her by standing, so he leaned in.

"It is good manners for gentlemen to stand when a lady enters or leaves a room. You will soon learn to become accustomed to it." She nodded her head in understanding.

"Ah, if it isn't my lovely niece," Lucius drawled out, and Rabastan did not mistake the tone of resentment in his remark. Lucius would never go against what the dark lord had ordered, but that didn't mean that he was happy about it. So, while he would publicly claim Hermione as his niece as he had been told to do, he would likely still only see her as a mudblood. Blood purity was so important to him. It was important to Rabastan too, but not to the extreme of Lucius. Did he believe that those of pure, magical birth should be in power? Yes, but he didn't believe that muggle-borns were filthy and held no place in the wizarding world. However, the few bad eggs like the Malfoy's made any pureblood guilty by association and assumed to share the same beliefs.

Hermione didn't reply to Lucius's welcome, she simply took her seat next to Narcissa and allowed Rabastan to sit next to her. He was wondering if she was ignoring the hostility in the other wizards tone in an attempt to be a lady or simply because she no longer cared. He feared it was the latter. The young witch had made tremendous progress in the weeks since her arrival. She was talking more, she had less nightmares from what he had been told, and she wasn't fighting the elves on eating any more like she had been at first. However, there was no doubt in his mind, that she was far off from the spitfire he had been obsessed with for years, and he still planned to fix that.


	3. What Traits Make Up a Lady?

**A/N: A special thanks to all of my readers and reviewers for thir support, as well as to Kait (venomandvine), my lovely beta for taking the time to fix this up. I hope you all enjoy Chapter 3.**

* * *

What Traits Make Up a Lady?

Hermione was exhausted by the time the day of the wedding rolled around. Her Aunt Cissa had taken it upon herself to transform Hermione into the epitome of a high society, pureblooded, lady. Yes, that is correct. How, Hermione had asked herself at first, was one transformed into a lady? She soon found out. It was through, as her aunt so aptly named it, pureblood etiquette lessons, and over the last twelve days, Hermione had not been given a break from them. The witch had always thought of herself as well-mannered and polite, and of course she knew how to set the table properly for a dinner party and use her utensils correctly, so she hadn't thought that the training would be terribly difficult. She acknowledged that, after her stay in Azkaban, she might need some brushing up on how to re-enter into polite society, but she didn't believe it would be too extensive. How wrong she was.

Narcissa's idea of what an aristocratic lady should be like, was far different from Hermione's understanding. And Merlin, (though cussing was frowned upon, quite severely) did Cissa take it seriously. Hermione had first been taken shopping, for a new wardrobe. The experience was not a terrible one if she looked over the fact that Narcissa turned into an absolute monster when shopping, comparable to Fluffy the three-headed dog from her first year. She now was only allowed to wear dresses, or sometimes the occasional skirt, with witch's robes. A proper lady did not prance about wearing trousers, she had been reprimanded coldly. While they had been on their shopping adventure from hell, they had, of course, found her a dress for her wedding, which Narcissa insisted on buying for her as an official engagement gift. Hermione may not have been thrilled about her upcoming nuptials but even she couldn't deny the fact that she looked like a princess in the gown, which was positively beautiful. Then, Narcissa had made sure Hermione memorized every beauty charm in the little black book of charms. She supervised Hermione as she attempted to use them to fix her hair, apply her daily cosmetics, as well as charm her clothes to fit. It simply wouldn't do for a lady to be seen in public under dressed or appearing as though she just woke up. People would think she was ill.

Next, the witch had instructed Hermione on the etiquette a pureblood lady should display. Things like, how to talk like a lady, drink tea like a lady, smile like a lady, sit like a lady, and how to dance and curtsey like a lady. She had even gone so far as to ensure that Hermione knew how to walk like a lady, which was the worst part of the whole ordeal. Hermione had never liked heels, and not only was she ordered to wear nothing but heels from this point forward, she had been given lessons on walking in them. It was humiliating to endure, and Narcissa hadn't let up on her until she was able to walk the length of the longest hallway in the manor without stumbling. Then the witch had begun correcting Hermione's posture.

She was to sit up straight at all times, shoulders back, no slouching, with her head held high. A lady never lowered their head, they communicated with their eyes, a gaze that went over somebody's head would signify that one's station was above the person they were looking at, whereas lowered eyes meant one's own station was below the other person. A straight gaze meant the two were of equal station. Narcissa had Hermione practice walking with the same posture. Hermione had never thought she would ever have a reason to hate a book. Then again, she had never thought she would have to balance ancient, heavy tomes on her head as she paced back and forth in heels with a straight back and squared shoulders, with the idea of keeping them on her head as she did instead of allowing them to fall off.

Hermione had been overwhelmed by all of the lessons, and she was insulted by what they suggested. Narcissa made it out as though because she had been raised by muggles that Hermione was too common to have any decent social skills. However, she saw the reasoning behind that view as well. Any pureblood witch would have learned these things from birth, have grown up walking with their heads held high. They would have been raised with these customs. Hermione had not been immersed in pureblood culture from a young age, but as her status now mandated that she was a pureblood, truth aside, it was crucial for her to have the associating traits of one, lest she bring shame to her house. They didn't mean the Gryffindor one, she was sure.

The night before her wedding, Narcissa had declared Hermione proficient. She had the basics mastered and was conducting herself in a ladylike fashion, and it would have to do. However, she should continue to observe other pureblooded witches demeanors and behavior and adopt them. Hermione was so relieved that the torture was completed and had collapsed that night in her bed, completely worn out. She didn't even pause to really think about the fact that when she next awoke, it would be her wedding day.

A fact that was rectified when she sat straight up in her bed on Saturday morning, and all the thoughts came pouring in. Holy mother of Merlin, it was her bloody WEDDING DAY!

And she was getting married for the wrong reasons. She might end up looking like a princess by the time Narcissa was through with her, but this was a forced marriage. If she had a choice she wouldn't be in this situation. Not that she preferred the cold atmosphere of the wizarding prison, but Rabastan Lestrange was not her idea of a good match. If the war had gone the way she planned, she would likely be married to Ron by now, but Ron was dead, she saw him fall. Harry was gone they had lost, and now, she would rather be dead then walking down an aisle. But she didn't have a say, and it was going to happen, like it or not.

As if on cue, the entourage of house-elves appeared in her room. The time for preparations had arrived.

* * *

Rabastan had been summoned, on the day of his blasted wedding, to see his master. The dark lord would, of course, be in attendance at the ceremony and afterwards at the reception. He wondered why he was being summoned now, not that it was much trouble, as he had stayed in Malfoy manor overnight.

The dark lord himself had taken up residence is the ostentatious home after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. It was meant as punishment for Lucius, and now even though the war was won, and the Malfoy's had proven themselves loyal and worthy once more, the snake-like wizard never left. Though there were rumors he might be planning on moving his court soon, as if this were the medieval times and he was an English Monarch who would go on progression from residence to residence. Speculation made it out that Voldemort would be moving from manor to manor of his follower's throughout the year instead of remaining in one place all the time.

The only problem with being summoned, was that it was early, and Rabastan had been up late drinking with his comrades at a stag party, celebrating his last night as a bachelor. He was tired and he had been pissed last night so the lingering effects were still present even as he made his way through the halls and to the suite his master occupied.

"My lord, you summoned?" Rabastan asked as he bowed upon entering the room.

"Ah Rabastan," The dark lord hissed a reply and grinned his eerie, terrifying smile, "And how is the groom this morning?"

"I am well, my lord, as well as any wizard can be after a stag party of course."

"Yes, indeed. I have asked you to come today because I wish to discuss the type of ceremony you will be conducting today with your bride to be."

Rabastan hesitated. He recognized that the dark lord was after something here, or else he wouldn't be asking. Rabastan had planned on the traditional vows and bonding ceremony, he had no wish to push Hermione too soon into anything she was unwilling or reluctant to do.

"Well, I had been planning on the traditional rituals, my lord. Of course, if you had another plan it would be my honor to implement that instead."

"I see," hissed the wizard, "I think, Rabastan that the traditional vows will not do. You understand that I have now made you the heir to the Lestrange estate despite you being the younger son, because your brother refuses to remarry and beget an heir, and you have the desire to carry on your family name."

"Yes my lord, I know that is why you granted me the privilege of taking over as head of my house." Rabastan replied, and then thought, much to my brother's resentment. But it was true. Roldolphus's refusal to remarry or to provide a son would have killed their line, and not only did Rabastan not want that to happen, but the dark lord had been displeased by the predicament as well.

"So then you know that the heir to your house is important and the sooner one is conceived, the better."

"Yes my lord."

"I think therefore that you should use the fertilitatem ritus vinculum at your ceremony." The dark lord instructed and Rabastan sucked in a cold, sharp breath. That was an old pureblooded ritual, it was seldom used anymore. "I expect many children from this union Rabastan, not just a singular heir." The dark lord added as he waited for his servant's response.

"Yes my lord. Of course, I will let the high priest know of the correction to the ceremony."

"And Rabastan, I do expect you to consummate this marriage tonight, a willing bride or not, and I will be checking to make sure my wishes are adhered to." The dark lord called after Rabastan as he strode for the door. The dark haired wizard nodded once in confirmation, indicating he received the message.

The fertilitatem ritus vinculum dated back to the medieval ages. It was an oppressive bond, one that wasn't used anymore because it gave no rights to the witch. Rabastan regretted that he would have to use this with Hermione, but he was not about to disobey the dark lord. The ceremony was a fertility ritual as well as a bonding ritual, and gave the wizard absolute rights to his wife, body mind and soul. The witch, who never even spoke at the ceremony, had to obey her husband in all things. It was outdated and it was cruel, and Rabastan resented it, but it would be done. He had no other choice. He thought perhaps he should inform Lady Malfoy of the change in plans though, the least he could do was give Hermione some heads up on what to expect.

* * *

Hermione couldn't breathe. Both figuratively and literally. The corset on her gown was pulled so tight she was sure it was hindering her ability to pull in life sustaining oxygen. And she had just been told about the type of ceremony being performed for her wedding.

It was the fertilitatem ritus vinculum. She remembered reading about it in one of her History of Magic textbooks at some point. She had thought then that it was an abhorrent ritual to perform for a wedding, to completely strip one party entirely of all rights. Now, faced with the prospect of the fertility bonding rites being her own wedding, she was livid. It wasn't like she had that many rights to begin with, but now she was going to not only be forced to conceive and bear children but she wouldn't even have the ability to ever disobey her husband's wishes. And all because the fucking dark lord ordered it to be so.

Narcissa had explained, given the choice, Rabastan would have selected a traditional bonding ceremony. Alas, it was not to be, and now the time was upon her. She stood at the top of the winding staircase next to her 'Uncle' who was to give her away.

"Listen here, girlie," the blonde was threatening. "You will walk down that aisle willingly and bow before the dark lord or I will throw you to your knees before him. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Uncle Lucuis" Hermione replied, mad enough to goad him. The last thing he wanted was to be considered family to her, and she knew it. He didn't reply, merely gripped her arm tightly, though she was sure that it wouldn't appear so to onlookers, and proceeded to lead her down the stairs.

Desperately the witch gasped for some air and pleaded to the powers that be that she wouldn't cry, like she was in danger of doing, in front of all the people. She was determined not to let these monsters know how much she was affected by this. She held her head high as the aisle from the staircase to the alter came into view. Her mind wandering for a moment, she idly thought that her act of defiance was quite in tune with the mannerisms Narcissa had spent the better part of the last two weeks drilling into her. She held the stature that a lady would, and she looked like a royal to match the stance. Though, the amusing thing was, it wasn't because of the lessons that she was carrying herself as such.

Suddenly Hermione realized, thanks to the grip on her arm becoming even more restricting, that they had reached the end the aisle where Voldemort now stood before them. Dutifully, albeit resentful, the witch sank into a curtsey of a respectable depth. Since she was now considered a pureblood and about to become the mistress of House Lestrange, her curtsey would not be as low as a halfbloods or even pureblooded ladies not holding the title of mistress of the house.

The dark lord seemed pleased by her acknowledgment and inclined his head before moving to the side. Lucius walked her the last five feet to where Rabastan stood before an old and wrinkly high priest, one of the only wizards able to perform the fertilitatem ritus vinculum

"Who gives this witch to this wizard?" The old man croaked out loudly when she arrived.

"I Lucuis Malfoy, her uncle and guardian, do give her hand in marriage." The blonde stated and then placed her hand into Rabastan's warm, outstretched one. That was it, Hermione thought bitterly, just like that her fate was sealed, the leading man in her life had agreed to the union and she had no say. It certainly didn't help that she wasn't permitted to speak, they didn't even require her to exchange vows.

The priest wrapped a silver cord around their joined hands. It burned momentarily. Then he began to chant in Latin, what she assumed, must be the fertility rites. Hermione didn't speak the language, it being a dead tongue after all, aside from standard incantations and the odd phrase or two, so she had no idea what was being said.

When the chanting concluded, a silver chalice was thrust towards her and she knew she was expected to drink from it. The liquid was wine she realized upon sipping from it. The action was repeated by Rabastan.

"I, Rabastan Demitruis Lestrange do take this witch into my house as my lawfully bonded wife. I swear to care for her needs, to fill her with my seed, to grant her desires, to protect her honor and reputation, to oversee her relationships and to be faithful to her and only her so that any child I sire might also be hers from this hour until the hour of my death." Rabastan vowed, and Hermione noticed he left out the part about correcting her disobedience. He slipped a ring onto her finger above her engagement ring, it was a matching set, goblin made silver encrusted with a circle of tiny diamonds.

Another bout of chanting came from the priest and then a stinging burn from the cord around their hands caused Hermione to look at them. They were glowing in a golden light, signifying that the bond was forming. The priest had cut both their palms and joined the blood together.

"May Merlin bless your union and may your bride bear you many children," the priest said formally to Rabastan before he proclaimed, "This wizard has sworn to accept this witch, the bonding kiss may now take place."

Rabastan leaned forward, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, and she gasped at the sensation, which of course made him deepen the kiss. It was nice, she had to be honest. The kiss was warm, moist, with just the right amount of pressure, but it was over almost as soon as it began.

"I now pronounce you wizard and wife." Applause sounded from the assembled audience, and Rabastan, keeping her hand clasped in his, led her down the aisle as a married woman.

Once they reached the end of the flower covered, white carpeted path, and the door that Lucius had all but dragged her through minutes earlier, they had to turn and face the assembled guests who were already forming a line to offer their felicitations to the new couple. Hermione was still unable to speak and now thought that somebody had hexed her without her knowing it. She could only pretend to smile sweetly and accept the kisses to her hands from wizards and hugs from witches, with as much grace as she could muster. Finally, the last guest to congratulate them, the dark lord himself, stood before them.

"My Lord," Rabastan said with a formal bow, so Hermione followed suit with a curtsey.

"Cat have your tongue, Madame Lestrange?" Voldemort asked of her with his horrible, fear inducing grin that displayed his rotting teeth. Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Finite," Rabastan hissed at her.

"My lord," Hermione whispered, still in a lowered stance.

"Congratulations on your union." Voldemort said.

"Thank you." Hermione replied with contempt that she withheld from her tone.

"Indeed. Thank you, My lord." Rabastan echoed and then escorted her out of the room to the dining room where the wedding reception and feast was to be held. Narcissa had put in a lot of effort for it, but Hermione just couldn't bring herself to care.


	4. What is so Special about Being Married?

**A/N: Thanks to all of you out there reading, reviewing, adding to favorites and following, your support is appreciated. Special thanks to my awesome beta Venomandvine.**

* * *

What Is So Special About Being Married?

Hermione was seated at the right hand of Rabastan who was seated at the right hand of Voldemort, as the guest of honor. Usually, Lucius and Narcissa would occupy those seats as the Lord and Lady of the house that the dark lord was currently inhabiting. However, because of the special occasion being in honor of Hermione's union to House Lestrange, as well as her new husband's now official status as Lord Lestrange, they graciously agreed to move down two places.

Idle conversation floated across the table, as Hermione sat picking at her food. Nobody was bothering to engage her in any conversation, and it seemed that she was still an outsider, which she was fine with, really. The brunette witch didn't care for any of them. Two places away, at the head of the table, sat the man she hated to the very core of her being. He was the murderer of her best friends, not to mention responsible for the persecution, torture of countless witches, wizards and muggles. He was wizard who had no remorse for the damage he caused. To his left, sat the husband of the woman who spent countless hours inflicting the cruciatus curse on her, weeks before the final battle, only to end up carving a hateful word in her left forearm with a cursed blade. A constant reminder that no matter what was written on a piece of paper, she was still a mudblood.

Hermione continued in her task of pushing food around on her plate. The meal consisted of fresh, grilled salmon, a fish Hermione never enjoyed to begin with. She wasn't hungry, but even if she was the events of the day would have hindered her appetite. As she did this, she listened to snippets of conversation circling the room, allowing her to pick up on things she may otherwise have missed. An elf came to clear her plate, and when it had, Rabastan noticed she had not eaten a morsel of food. He turned his dark gaze towards her, but said nothing. Hermione didn't even glance up to realize that he was looking at her. He did, however, notice that Hermione's wine goblet was, in fact, empty. With a simple hand gesture, he halted the creature from refilling it. The house elf returned with the main course of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, the salmon having been one of the introductory courses, and set it in front of Hermione. Rabastan fixated a watchful eye on her, taking note that began swirling the food around on the platter but never rose the fork to her mouth.

He set a hand on her knee to gain her attention. "You need to eat." He whispered quietly in her ear. She nodded, and the surrounding guests laughed at what they thought was a shared sweet moment. His hand didn't move until she had actually eaten a bite of the chicken.

At that moment the witch seated across from Hermione, Ophelia Nott, Theo's new wife from an Italian pureblood family, directed a question her way.

"Are you looking forward to moving in to Lestrange Hall, Madame?"

Hermione pursed her lips and looked straight at her. "I wouldn't know Lady Nott. I haven't heard a thing about it." She replied coolly before returning to eating her chicken and potatoes.

"Oh." The woman replied. "I've heard it's a quaint little place," she added as she wrinkled her nose on the emphasized word of quaint. Rabastan, who had moved an arm around Hermione's shoulders, stiffened beside her at the implied insult to his home.

"I will have you know Lady Nott," he said peacefully enough, "that my ancestral home, while **antiquated** and not as large as some of the other sacred twenty-eight estates, is very beautiful and relaxing."

The distasteful woman made a small sound at Rabastan's retort and took a sip of her wine. Hermione returned to eating the food in front of her, which really was quite good. She watched with mild interest as Theo Nott, an old schoolmate of hers scowled at Ophelia. Hermione didn't have to guess what had upset him, as his wife had just insulted the home of a higher ranking deatheater. Theo had only joined up right before the final battle, so he was still low in the ranks and it was unseemly for his wife to insult Rabastan. Nott and her husband may be purebloods of equal measure, however, Hermione's new husband had more status in the regime. Not in small part due to of his years in service to the dark lord, and being an older member in society.

She raised her wine glass to her lips only to find it was empty. She turned to look at Rabastan inquisitively. He quirked his eyebrow and shaking his head slightly glanced at her plate still half-full of food. Understanding that he had noticed that she was drinking more than she was eating, she sighed.

"May I have some water please?" She asked quietly. A moment later a glass of water took the place of her wine glass.

She resumed taking small bites of her food ignoring people as she did so. At some point, a traditional wedding cake appeared before them. Hermione managed to take a couple bites of it for the sake of the host before pushing the plate away gently. As soon as she had the dark lord turned to Rabastan, before addressing the assembled guests.

"I believe that it is time for the newlyweds to retire for the evening," he cackled and a cheer went across the table. Hermione froze, it had now come to the moment she was dreading.

"Thank you Lucius, Narcissa, for hosting the ceremony. And thank you all for attending, but my lord is correct that my new bride and I will retire now." Rabastan uttered a gracious reply. Just then an overly obnoxious comment from an even more brutish wizard sounded through the dining room.

"Pound the little princess into the mattress nice and good Lestrange," Thorfinn Rowle jeered and then added, "Merlin knows if she was my wife, I would be."

A chorus of "Here, Here's" echoed around the males present at the table and Hermione flushed as Rabastan took her hand in his to lead her away. He ignored the comment but as they withdrew, she heard Narcissa admonish Rowle for being a pig, and then the dark lord's comment that he was just enjoying himself, as he was entitled to do.

The sounds of the guests enjoying the celebration became more muffled the further the couple went up the stairs. The quitter it became, the more Hermione realized how alone with her new husband she was. Fear seized her and increased even more when she noticed that Rabastan wasn't leading her to her bedroom suite.

As if sensing her confusion when they passed the room she had been occupying for the past several weeks, he explained "Narcissa prepared the honeymoon suite for us, it's their best and biggest guest room here, and since the manor has been the location of many weddings over the years, it has been used for new couples."

"Oh." Hermione managed to say.

He led her into a very large chamber, which housed what must be the largest bed she ever saw, and an attached master bath. She was shaking with nerves, married now, she knew what came next, but she was inexperienced, and she hadn't even experimented much with any of this.

She drew her arms across her chest and strayed closer to a wall that was furthest from the bed. Rabastan, not intending to scare her, or jump her immediately for that matter, stayed several feet away and moved his hands in a motion of surrender.

"Hermione…" He began, "it's okay I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'd certainly hope not, when you have already had ample opportunity to." She rebutted sharply. He sighed, he deserved that, and it wasn't as if he had expected her to be willing, but he couldn't help it. Rabastan had wanted this witch since he first laid eyes on her. The desire only increased when he held her captive, wriggling to free herself, in his arms that day in the Department Of Mysteries. She wouldn't know it, but he first laid eyes on her at the World Cup the year before. When he saw her wielding a wand, and sparking with energy, he was completely sold. He wouldn't lie, it wasn't for anything more than a conquest at first, but now, after seeing her thrown into a cell to rot, and knowing how powerful she was, knew she would make a great wife, and mother to his children. Which is why he claimed her.

"We need to discuss some things, so please come sit," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the table that occupied the room. And then he poured her a glass of wine.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Let me make myself clear. While I have wanted you as a wife for some time now, what happened today was not what I wanted it to be like. I would have preferred the traditional rites."

"I know, Cissa told me." His wife replied.

"Good. Then I hope you can also understand that I would have waited, given the choice, to consummate our marriage, but I have been expressly ordered to complete the bonding tonight."

"And because of the fertility ritual, I'll likely fall pregnant right?"

"Well, yes, it's very probable that you will. Hermione, are you, I mean I know your not a virgin, not really." He said thinking of what she had endured in Azkaban. "But, aside from those assaults in prison, are you untouched, inexperienced?"

Hermione flushed. "Yes." She whispered. Rabastan had assumed as much, but now felt like an even bigger arse then he had before she confirmed that small piece of information.

"I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I hope that you will, I want this to be a real marriage, not one where I set you aside when you provide an heir, and I don't want you to hate me for the rest of our lives either. I promise you that I will make this as easy for you as possible, but we do need to…" he hesitated, trying to find the right word.

"Fuck? Yeah I got that." Hermione replied bitterly. "Well, shall we get to it then?" she hissed out. He sighed deeply, way to make him feel like even more of a cradle robbing rapist, he thought.

"We can wait until you are ready tonight." He replied.

"Well I'm not going to be ready, my lord." She said, "I'm not ever going to be ready for this with you. Let me enunciate this for you in words you will understand, you are a monster, you have tormented me for years, you have forced me to marry you and to bear your children, and I despise your very existence. I would rather be dead than be within a foot of you. So seeing as I have no choice, this is as ready as I'll ever be," Hermione shouted in agitation. Despite being frustrated, disappointed and even irritated, he chuckled, because standing before him now was his Hermione, his witch, full of power, fire and loathing for him. She was back, but now he had to tame her.

He crossed the room, and before she even had time to contemplate what was happening, was pressing her against the wall his mouth crashing down against hers. This kiss wasn't gentle, slow, or sweet like the one at the ceremony. This kiss was full of need and passion, anger and desire, and he groaned when the witch unfroze and actually began to kiss him back. He couldn't believe that she was.

When his tongue met hers after some prompting from him to open up, she made a soft sound, sort of like a strangled groan, and it sent a wave of heat straight down to his groin, which hardened in response.

He broke the kiss and pulled back to stare into her eyes. Hermione was panting now, breathless from snogging him. She was annoyed because as much as she despised the circumstances, her body was responding to him just fine. she assumed there was something in the ritual that caused this reaction.

"Let me help you with your dress." He suggested. Hermione only nodded in acceptance, knowing she would have to anyway, and turned around. He began unlacing the ties on her corset and loosening the gown before pulling it down so that it pooled at her feet.

She was naked save for a scrappy piece of lace that he supposed was meant to be knickers. She stood shivering before him and he was sure it wasn't because of the cold. He made an appreciative sound as he took in her body, bared to him, her perky breasts with hardened peaks that he couldn't wait to suck on and her glorious pale skin with a scattering of freckles here and there.

He shrugged out of his own jacket and dress shirt to unveil himself to her, in an attempt to ease more of her fears. When it only seemed to make her more nervous he leaned in to capture her lips again. Then he planted kisses down her jaw, to her neck and finally to those deliciously pink buds, which he gently sucked into his mouth and lavished attention on. As he did her body trembled and her breath hitched. He pulled away and reached a hand out to her, which she reluctantly took a moment later and led her over to lay on the bed. He continued his worship of her breasts and kissed his way down her body, kissing her thighs before pulling the scrap of white lace down her legs and licking at her wet slit.

He licked at the pink folds and parted them with his tongue to thrust in and out of her as he nibbled at her soft flesh. His efforts were rewarded with a loud moan from the witch as his fingers rubbed circles around her clit and continued until she was shuddering and panting beneath him before finally bringing her over the edge. The witch whimpered as she came before mumbling a muffled plea for him.

"It's time." He said gently. He couldn't wait anymore and pulled his trousers down and away freeing his large turgid cock from the prison of material. He never usually bothered with undergarments, so he was ready for her. He aligned his erection at her slick entrance and she tensed immediately. "I'll go slow" he reassured.

Rabastan was well endowed, a fact that he was normally proud of, but tonight wished that maybe he wasn't so intimidating with 10 inches of hardened flesh that was obviously very frightening to her. He slowly slid into her. He wasn't worried about hurting her. She had been raped enough that he knew the feel of a penis inside of her wouldn't hurt her much. He wanted for her to enjoy the feel of it, something he was certain she never had before. When he was all the way in her hot wet sheath he whispered in her ear.

"Wrap your legs around me." Hermione did, bringing her heels to rest against his arse, as he pulled out slowly before pushing back inside slowly. She moaned as he groaned. He repeated the movement, sure to hit her g-spot. He also used his thumb to stimulate her clit and kept a slow and steady pace.

"Please." Hermione begged, hating herself for it.

"Please what?" He asked, needing to know what she wanted, what would bring her closer to the edge.

"Faster, a little harder." She elaborated and Rabastan happily obliged, drawing out and thrusting back in, increasing his tempo and ensuring he was balls deep inside her in one steady motion.

She unraveled beneath him with a long, content sigh, and he continued to push in an out of her for several more minutes until he reached his own release. He stilled in her, buried to the hilt as he came, pumping his hot, white seed into her.

He rolled off of her a minute later, trying to catch his breath. That had been absolutely wonderful. he thought, and the witch was more responsive then he had expected her to be. But his contentment was short lived as Hermione drew her knees to her chin and hugged her legs to her, cuddled on her side, her back to him, body shaking with the silent sobs.

"It's done." He sighed and rose from the bed. He walked away from her to go and draw her a bath. Blast it all, he thought as he began to run the taps and pour in potions and other soothing essentials to help her relax. He had actually let himself believe she was back for a moment, but he realized that despite her responsiveness to him, despite her anger and resentment, that she was still very fragile. It was too soon, he knew it would be. His witch was used for her body, over and over again in that hell-hole, sex wouldn't be something that made her feel good. And even though he had done what he could to make it pleasurable for her, the act itself was still not enjoyable and he couldn't hate himself more than he did at that moment.

When the tub was filled he went back into the bedroom and lifted her up into his arms. She murmured a muffled protest, but he ignored her as he set her into the water, and positioned himself in it behind her. She was struggling against him, still crying, and Rabastan just closed his arms around her to pull her against him.

"I'm sorry." he whispered to her. "I'm so sorry."

"Are you?" She asked, "Are you Really? I mean you have what you want."

"Yes, I wanted you Hermione, and yes now I have you as my wife, but please believe me that I don't want to hurt you, that I'm going to care for you. I promise you now, that I won't touch you like that again until you are ready, unless I'm ordered to."

"He doesn't care if you raped me or not, does he?" She sobbed.

"No," Rabastan replied honestly. "He didn't require you to be willing, just that the deed was done."

"I accept your promise, then" She replied. He didn't say anything back to her, just waited for her to relax enough in the water, which she did a few minutes later. Eventually she asked him. "Why did you omit the part of the vows about correcting and disciplining my disobedience? From what I've read it's a major part of the ceremony, for the wizard to have control over his wife."

"I don't want you obligated to be obedient, nor do I really want you to obey my every whim, I'm not seeking to control you." he explained.

"I," She cut off. "I appreciate it." She said, expressing her gratitude even though she didn't want to be thanking him. She realized that even though her situation wasn't ideal, that it could be even worse, and that he had consciously thought about how she would feel about being compelled to do whatever he said. It's more than she could have expected from any of the others.

Rabastan grunted in acknowledgement and tightened his embrace slightly. Hermione allowed the hot water to sooth her, and even though she was married to man she didn't love, or particularly trust, relaxed for a moment. It had been a long and trying day.


	5. How Does One Keep House?

How Does One Keep House?

The next morning proved to be awkward for the newly wedded couple. Rabastan was unfamiliar with waking up next to somebody. He had certainly known his fair share of women, between his playboy youth and the revels of both wars, he wasn't unaccustomed to the company of women. However, Rabastan had always sent the witches packing before he went to bed. Waking up next to Hermione was an anomaly. The bottom line was Hermione was the first witch he had slept next to and woken up with in a long time. Hermione was still sleeping when he woke, so he padded across the floor to the shower, he still had bath oil in his hair from holding Hermione last night. When he had finished he didn't check to see that Hermione was laying on the bed, her eyes opened, he just dropped the towel to the floor.

"OH MY GODRIC!" he heard her gasp. Not at all uncomfortable in the nude, he didn't make haste to pull his pants on, but knowing his bride was unhappy he didn't take his sweet time either. "Do you have to do that right where I can see?" she hissed at him.

"Apologies Madame," he said holding in a chuckle of amusement, "I did not know you were awake."

"Well why didn't you bring your clothes in there with you?"

"I didn't want to get them wet." He replied with a smirk. She glared at him. "I'm glad you up actually. We need to be getting home so get dressed and we can eat dinner with the guests downstairs."

"Joy," was her sarcastic reply.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked. She shrugged. He was about to continue his questioning of her, when she verbally responded.

"I'm okay. Sore, I guess, but I'll live."

"I'll see you get a pain potion." He said. "Are you okay?" They both knew that he wasn't asking about her physical well-being any longer. It took her awhile to respond.

"I'm confused," She sighed. "I'm angry, resentful and frustrated all of the time, but I'm also grateful because I'm being treated well, and because I know that you saved me from more than just Azkaban, but I feel guilty about being grateful because I feel like I'm betraying my beliefs, and those of my friends." She explained. He nodded once. He could understand that. He was happy she was honest with him because it meant that this arrangement was off to a better start then it could be, but there really wasn't anything he could say to help her feel any better either.

"Okay." He said. "Well Madame, I'll leave you to dress. I'll be outside when you are ready." He closed the door behind him and leaned against the frame, waiting for her to finish, serving guard between his innocent wife and the other men who were depraved enough to enter uninvited.

Hermione didn't have much of an option. There was only one dress hanging in the wardrobe, an elegant tea length day dress of icy blue chiffon. She supposed that Narcissa had seen to it that she would have an outfit for the morning after. The elves already packed up the rest of her new clothes for the move to her new home. She quickly donned the garment, and the matching heeled pumps that were present as well, before she muttered the standard hair and cosmetic charms that she had been made to memorize. Once she was ready to go, she opened the door to the room to find Rabastan waiting outside as he said he would.

"You look stunning," he complimented.

"Thank you, my lord."

"You can call me Rabastan you know, Hermione. I am your husband."

"It would be unseemly to refer to you by name in public my lord."

"Okay then." He offered her his arm which she accepted timidly and they walked together towards the dining hall, the lump growing larger in her throat as they descended.

Nothing had prepared them for what the dark lord had in store for them that morning at breakfast.

"Good morning, my dear." Greeted Narcissa after they had sat at the table. "That dress is lovely on you."

"Thank you Aunt Cissa, I'm glad you choose it for me today." She replied politely.

The dark lord didn't attend meals, and was notably absent from the table that morning. He no longer required food, being resurrected, and had the misfortunate tendency to put off the appetites of others when he was present. His absence wasn't the only one. The death eaters who had made arseholes of themselves at the feast the night before, Rowle and his cronies, were also missing. Breakfast was, therefore, a quiet affair. Hungry because she hadn't eaten much at dinner, Hermione gladly filled her plate with the bacon, eggs, sausage, and hash browns, as well as some fruit and poured herself a glass of coffee, which was intercepted by her husband. He placed a glass of pumpkin juice in front of her instead. She glared at him.

"No risks, Madame." He whispered. "We do not yet know if yesterday's ritual was effective or not, but we should proceed with caution until we do know for sure."

Hermione didn't argue because she knew he was logically correct. It didn't stop her from being annoyed by not being able to indulge in her morning obsession, but she knew caffeine was bad for babies. So on the off chance the ritual did bear fruit, no pun intended, she really should act as though she were pregnant. Of course neither she, nor Rabastan or any of the guests knew that they would know for certain before they left the manor that morning. Instead of lingering over the fact she couldn't drink coffee, she looked around the dining room.

Many of the guests who were present for the wedding ceremony the previous night had departed for their own homes, so it was a great relief to Hermione that it wasn't a grand affair for her to be presented that morning. It was quiet conversation between Narcissa, Lucius, Rabastan, Draco, Theo (who had left his wife in their rooms), and Astoria Greengrass, Draco's intended. Hermione had not spoken at all with her former rival, but she guessed that he had been avoiding her as well. Though, at any rate, he seemed to hold less animosity for her. Hermione choose to silently enjoy her breakfast, indulging in the items she had loaded her plate with. Rabastan was pleased to see her eating. The table had just been cleared when the dark lord entered the room. Immediately the entire room rose from their chairs in respect.

"Ah, the young Mistress Lestrange," the snakelike wizard headed straight towards Hermione.

"My Lord," She mumbled, sinking into a curtsey.

"Let's see how well your husband did his duty, shall we?" He asked, but before she, or anyone could respond entered her mind to see, to her mortification, the intimacy that had occurred in the bedroom. Rabastan tightened his hold on her in a way that told her he was furious, when he felt his lord enter his own mind, but tried to refrain from showing it, and she knew her face was red. "It seems he did well," Voldemort chuckled as he made the announcement to the entire room.

Nervous laughter sounded at her expense, before he cast a dark spell over her. She felt the magic wash over her, cold, dark, evil, his signature she realized, a moment before her abdomen began to glow. It was an early detection charm for conception, banned in the medieval times because it was a dark spell meant for witches to detect a pregnancy early and be able to rid of it properly.

"It also would seem that his seed is plentiful indeed, and you will bear him many children and future followers for me." The horrible man cackled, but Hermione didn't hear him. She was still staring at the residual glow from her stomach. She was pregnant. She suspected she would be, but Hermione was in shock from what had just occurred. Swaying on her feet, she was vaguely aware of her new husband helping her back into her chair. The dark lord swept out of the room as suddenly as he had come, and soon after Narcissa moved to action.

"Out, everybody out." She hollered at the guests present as Hermione began to hyperventilate. It wasn't over being pregnant, after the fertility ritual it would have been surprising to not be. Considering the way she was informed, she was overwhelmed. She was panicking now because of the way she was all but put on display and offered up to the deatheaters. She was offered water from Rabastan, which she drank down greedily. Once she had calmed, Narcissa took her face in her palms and looked her in the eyes with a smile.

"Congratulations my girl. I know it was an awful way to find out, but just think of what a blessing this is." Hermione nodded not trusting herself to speak. "Lucius and I have a wedding present for you." Narcissa continued. "Notty." The witch called, and a moment later a house elf that had been Hermione's helper during her stay appeared. "You would please me and your master greatly by allowing yourself to be bound to a new mistress."

"Narcissa, I do have elves of my own." Rabastan sounded, a little put out by the concept of being gifted an elf. The blonde witch ignored him.

"Notty would you be agreeable to becoming Mistress Lestrange's personal elf?" Narcissa asked the creature.

"Oh yes, mistress. Missy Hermione very nice and Notty be wanting to care for her." The elf agreed excitedly.

"Very well then, Hermione my dear girl, Notty will now serve as your ladies elf, as she has done since you arrived."

"Thank you, Narcissa." Hermione replied graciously. She had grown fond of Notty in her time here and was glad to have at least one friend to bring with her to her new home. If one could consider a house elf a friend.

"Of course, my dear. Well now, I think we ought to let you both get settled into your new home. Congratulations again Hermione." The elder witch said before she left the room.

"Notty," Rabastan said, "please go to Lestrange Hall and let our head elf Zilly know your new position." Notty didn't react right away but looked to her new mistress.

"It's okay Notty. Please do as he says." Hermione ordered.

Notty popped out, obviously to do as she was bid.

"I've had our elves collect your belongings and bring them to our estate." Rabastan informed her. "If you are quite ready we may depart ourselves at any time."

"If you don't mind, Rabastan," Hermione said using his given name, causing him to quirk a small, half smile. "I could use a moment longer."

"As you wish," He allowed. Hermione used the extra time to drink some more water and just have an undisturbed moment to breathe. When she was as relaxed as she was going to be she nodded and took her husband's hand. Rabastan led her out of the anti-aparation wards and once clear took her hand and disapparated them both in a cloud of black matter to her new home.

* * *

They arrived in the gardens. Rabastan took a moment to explain while she regained her equilibrium that the Lestrange family members were the only ones allowed to apparate directly onto the grounds or within the estate itself, much like at Malfoy Manor. Since she was now his wife, she would now be able to as well. When the nausea from being side-alonged faded, Hermione took the first look at the structure that was Lestrange Hall. It appeared as though it was a cross between an old medieval fortress and a Tudor era hunting lodge. It wasn't unmanageably large, but it wasn't small by any means either. Behind where they stood, in what she supposed was the front courtyard was a large wrought iron gate wedged between two massive stone pillars which were attached to a stone wall around the whole perimeter of the estate. Before them was an ancient, ivy covered, stone tower. On each side of it was a rectangular structure made of brick only half the size of the tower. She could see the historic influence and renovations of two different periods. It was breathtaking, and she couldn't hold in her gasp of wonder.

"It's something's isn't it?" Rabastan asked, attempting to gauge her reaction.

"It is that. Beautiful." The witch gasped in awe at the marvelous building before her.

They tracked up the gravel path towards the residence where on the steps the entire staff of elves were assembled to greet them. Rabastan introduced her to several of them and they all hummed in praise over their new mistress.

Rabastan escorted her around the house on an official tour. The main floor was the standard pureblood interior design of a dining room, the kitchens and a drawing room, and, of course, a small conservatory overlooking the back gardens. The second level housed the library, Rabastan's study and down a large hallway a forbidden ward.

"Hermione, you must never go down into the west wing of the floor, firstly it has some very dark family heirlooms I don't want you anywhere near. Secondly, Rodolphus resides in this ward of the estate and he harbors some resentment to my new status and towards you. He's unpredictable, I will take no chances of him taking his residual frustrations out on you."

"I promise."

The third level was their personal living space. She was first shown her own personal set of rooms, which shocked her.

"I hope one day you won't require them, but for now I realize you need your own space. There is an adjoining door to my own rooms, however rest assured I will respect your privacy."

"Thank you." Hermione choked out, eyes tearing up.

Then the darker aspect, the absolute reminder as to why exactly she was here. The nursery. That room itself was not so bad, however, the room next door was. The birthing chamber.

"Oh hell no." She exclaimed before she could hold it back.

"Every Lestrange heir, and child has been born in this room. The tradition will continue, Madame." Rabastan clipped. "I will have you know that you are lucky that you won't have an audience for the births. Not so long ago that to was tradition." Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"I'm sorry." She apologized. "I just wasn't expecting this. I always thought any child I had would be born at St. Mungos."

"As if," he said. "Too common." Oh yes, she thought. She was a pureblood's wife and a legalized pureblood herself. She was expected to act as arrogant as he did. But this was asking a lot. "Of course, you needn't worry, you will have the best medical care here at home."

"Oh. Of course," she replied. That statement may have ended the potential argument, however it did not alleviate any feelings of animosity towards her husband, or likewise irritation from Rabastan towards her. So the rest of the day was spent with the aftereffects of the disagreement, in relative silence which was only broken in a quiet but brisk tone when Rabastan explained something about the home. So far the marriage was off to a wonderful start.

The tower, the final destination of the tour, wasn't particularly noteworthy after the revelation of the birthing room. The upper level served as storage and the roof's lookout points reminiscent of generations long since gone. The dust and musty odor evidence that both were seldom used in these modern times, though Hermione imaged them as they would have once been, lively, warm and with splendor. The middle and lower levels housed lavishly decorated guest rooms and the sparse and mostly vacant elf quarters. In the basement were the dungeons, which she wasn't shown and expressly forbidden by her husband from exploring. He assumed she would even want to.

When the tour was completed, Hermione retreated to her own rooms, unable to stand his presence and the tense air between them since the scene at the birthing chamber. She explored her own rooms which were very feminine in design. The floor was lined with soft, warm white carpeting and the walls were a soft lilac color. The room had a large window seat overlooking the courtyard, which looked comfortable with the plush overlay and decorative throw pillows. It would be a good spot for reading, she thought. The room was dominated mostly by the presence of the large four poster bed, with floral sheets and included an stately wardrobe which already housed her new clothes she discovered upon opening it. Attached to her bedchamber was a master ensuite bathroom with a large bathtub, cool white tiled floors, a double sink and vanity counter. Another door opened to reveal a small sitting room similar to the setup of a common room at Hogwarts, with a grand fireplace, a writing desk, a couch and chairs furnished and colored with more earth tones. A door from there led to the nursery she saw when she opened it. She supposed that the one door she had not opened in her bedroom was the adjoining door to her husband's rooms.

Hermione settled into a chair in the sitting room and curled her feet up under her. She opened the little black leather bound diary she had been gifted, and began to write down her thoughts on the past couple of days. The witch recorded the marriage ceremony, the events of the consummation on her wedding night, her arrival here at Lestrange Hall and how grand the estate was. The head house-elf, Zilly, had informed her of what some of her duties would include. Narcissa had also explained the things pureblood ladies oversaw in the home, which usually entailed the house elves duties, menu planning, social events and the likes. It made Hermione wonder, how she was supposed to keep a house so large in order, when she was unused to such grandeur. At Hogwarts she spent her days keeping Ron and Harry out as much trouble as possible, but for all intents and purposes was still very much looked after herself. She grew up in a privileged muggle household, but there she had her parents to take care of her, that is until she obliviated them before the war really began.

Hermione had not grown up where she was waited on hand and foot by servants. Now she was not only being attended to, but was expected to supervise them. It was all a lot to take in, and she felt like she was drowning. For as much as the new estate, and new life made her into a fairy princess from the muggle fairy tales she had loved as a child, she couldn't help but feel as though this new life was her gilded cage. Like a princess locked in a tower, waiting until the day the prince came to save her. Except her prince was dead, she had seen him fall in battle and she knew she had no savior now. It was a sad realization, and when it hit her she lost herself to the salty, bitter tears.


	6. How do You Coexsist?

**A/N: Sorry to have missed last weeks update but here is Chapter 6, edited by my awesome beta venomandvine. Thanks so much to her, and to all of you lovely readers.**

* * *

How Do You Coexist?

From the window in her personal sitting room she could see that the sun was setting. _Had the day gone by already_ , Hermione wondered. She had long since finished writing in her journal and tucked it into a little drawer in the desk, before returning to the chair she had occupied since leaving Rabastan at the end of the hall. The sight of the twilight hued sky was enough to cause Hermione's stomach to grumble, the setting sun seeming to announce that she hadn't eaten since morning, and touring the grounds was quite extensive and expended a fair amount of energy.

Notty popped into her room almost as soon as the sky was completely dark.

"Notty not meaning to interrupt young mistress, but new master requires mistress's presence at dinner tonight." The elf squeaked nervously.

"It's fine Notty. Shall we go then?" She asked still dressed in her day wear, which was now wrinkled and somewhat frumpy looking from sitting bunched up in the material all afternoon.

"Oh no Mistress. You musts not goes to dinner like that!" The elf exclaimed with a horrified squeak. Hermione sighed. Of course not, she thought. She had hoped that now that Cissa was not underfoot all the time, constantly correcting her on something that perhaps she could get away with a casual dinner, but it seemed that pureblooded notions about dressing were not dinner was not just upheld in the Malfoy's residence.

"Well then, I suppose I should dress." Hermione muttered more to herself than the elf, and stalked towards the bedroom over to the wardrobe selecting a green cocktail dress, It fell to her knees, was long sleeved and made of lace. The dress really was quite pretty, but Hermione didn't care. She muttered a spell at her hair to tame the curls, and checked that her face was appropriately made up. Satisfied she turned to face Notty.

"Yes, you will do, now Mistress."

"Thank you Notty. I can make my own way to dinner." Hermione replied cordially. The elf disapparated and with a great shuddering sigh, Hermione held her head high, squared her shoulders and made her way around the home to the dining room.

* * *

Rabastan stood as she appeared in the doorway. He was across the long table from where the door opened, at what she supposed was the head of the table. She nodded her head in acknowledgment, before she headed towards the nearest chair to her, by the door, at the foot of the table. She didn't hear the small sound he made, his tongue clicking against his teeth in annoyance, but she did see him cross from his side of the table to her own. He clasped her arm in his, firmly but gently, as he pulled her upwards to stand.

"Madame, I have a place already set for you down here, next to me, where my wife should sit." He said not unkindly, but in a voice that brooked no argument. Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at him, but allowed him none-the-less to lead her to the other end.

After everything that had occurred between them and the events of the disagreement upstairs in the birthing room, Hermione was overwhelmed and wanted to put as much space between herself and her new husband as possible. He obviously had other ideas, so she eased herself into the chair he pulled out for her without a word. She still had yet to actually say anything to him since arriving.

"Did you have a peaceful afternoon?" He asked once he had reseated himself by his own plate. She shrugged. This time she did hear the cluck of irritation he made. "How did you spend it?" He asked, ensuring that there was no means for her to respond using body language or simple one-worded answers.

"I didn't do much." She replied dully. "I sat in the sitting room."

"Oh? What did you think of it?" He inquired.

"It's nice." Hermione said, keeping things simple. Rabastan was trying, he really was, but the witch was making it difficult for him not to lose his cool.

"Hermione," he warned.

"What?" She huffed in irritation. Well, there at least was some reaction. He bit his inner cheek to keep himself in check.

"I'm trying to be cordial here. I must say you are being rather rude and I would like for you to try at civility as well."

"Oh? We are being civil now? Because you see, earlier you made it seem as though I was a burden you had to carry around who doesn't even get the courtesy of making decisions for herself." Hermione clipped.

"Fuck it all," Rabastan growled. "This will end now."

"I quite agree. I'll go back to being silent. It will be easier." She affirmed hotly and as her last words died a figure entered the dining room and stalked towards them.

"Brother." The new arrival greeted as he took his chair across from Hermione. "Madame. I'm not late am I?" Rodulphus question in a bored tone as if he didn't particularly care one way or another. Rabastan sighed obviously on edge by his presence and none too pleased to have the budding argument with Hermione interrupted by his arrival. However, it was still his brother's right to eat in the dining room at meal times.

"No, you are not. The elves haven't served dinner yet." He answered his brother.

"Good. Though I hope they don't take much longer. I am ravenous." He said.

Hermione sat rigid in her chair. She knew that Rodulphus was Rabastan's brother of course, he'd been at the wedding, but she was still very uncomfortable in his presence.

"No, it shouldn't be much longer." Rabastan agreed and then asked. "Are you hungry Ma cherie?"

"Yes my Lord." Hermione replied.

Rodolphus laughed openly and loudly at that. "Fuck, she's dressed like one, she talks like one, she even looks like a pureblood now." He exclaimed. Hermione clenched her teeth and held her tongue.

"Rod." Rabastan hissed. It was a clear message of caution.

"Fuck what a piece of paper says!" Rodulphus goaded, "A scrap of paper does not change the filth in her blood, and you dishonor our house by breeding with one of her kind."

Hermione was furious. She was tempted to take the shining, silver knife and cut her palm just to show her blood was as red as theirs. Fingers itching closer to the sharp tool, she stopped only because the dishes before them were suddenly filled with food.

"That is enough Rod." Rabastan barked. "One more word about this and I'll report you to our lord myself. Do you want to end up in Azkaban?"

Hermione didn't look to see the angry flash in her brother-in-law's eyes or the quick flood of fear moments before that. She busied herself with piling the Sheppard's pie, roasted vegetables and bread onto her plate. The two wizard's quickly followed suit and the rest of the meal was conducted in silence. When she had cleared her plate, she rose from the table, and years of proper manners and upbringing forced the two brothers to their feet as well. Hermione retreated from the room and back upstairs to hide in her own chambers, without a backward glance.

* * *

It didn't take long. Maybe ten minutes, before the sharp knock sounded on her door. Hermione knew that he would come. They had been on the cusp of an argument downstairs before Rodolphus appeared and she had assumed he would come to finish it. It was abundantly clear that they needed to communicate, but Hermione didn't really want to.

She opened the door slowly.

"May I come in?" Rabastan asked quietly.

"It's your house." She replied with a shrug as she moved to let him in.

"I've already told you I will respect your space Ma cherie." He replied as he closed the door behind him.

"Forgive me for not trusting you." The witch retorted. He sighed.

"I don't want to argue. We need to talk, but can we please agree to do it without harsh words?"

"We can try." She said.

"Good." He replied. "To begin, we need to resolve the issue of the nursery."

"I wasn't aware there was anything to resolve. You made it perfectly clear what I am expected to do." Hermione glared.

"Yes, well. That is true, and I'm not going to change my mind either. However, I didn't explain myself very well, and I reacted poorly towards you when you questioned it. I'm sorry." He apologized.

Hermione blinked. Then nodded, not needing to verbally accept his apology. "So where does that leave us?" She asked.

"Why are you hesitant to give birth at home?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"I can't say. I just always pictured I'd have children in a hospital. Home births are not all that common anymore in the muggle world." She explained.

"So it isn't from a fear?"

"No. Not really. It just seems unnatural to me. And you had surprised me is all. I didn't mean to question your tradition." Hermione whispered.

"I can't really fault you. I didn't think, that for you this is all like your muggle middle-ages." He acknowledged.

"Yeah, it really is. I mean I live in a bloody castle, I'm trussed up like a princess, I'm married to a lord, and I'm meant to spend my days managing the household, bearing rearing children. It is pretty comparable to the middle ages." She smiled to show that she wasn't speaking out of anger or resentment, it was a truly good example. Rabastan quirked a small smirk himself.

"Okay, so I don't know how to explain this tradition. It has just always been done, and as it has always been done, I never questioned it. I was born in that chamber, Rod was born there, my father was, Bella miscarried there twice." Hermione hissed at the mention of the insane woman "Sorry. It's important to me that my children, the future Scion of our house, and any siblings he has, be born there as well."

"Fine. I'm not saying no to it, I was never going to say no. I just didn't know what to think." Hermione replied, and he nodded accepting that.

"I just want to assure you that even though, as you say a home birth wasn't something you had envisioned for yourself that you would still have the very best of the best of medical treatment. Anything you would receive at St. Mungo's will be administered hear and it will be far more private. I know I made a snarky comment about being lucky you wouldn't have an audience… and yes at one point in time that did occur, but not for generations. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay." Hermione allowed. "I understand."

"Are you settling in okay?" He eventually asked after several moments of quiet between them.

"It's hard to say." Hermione informed. "I feel out of place. But I would be lying if I said I didn't like the house." Hermione replied. She was surprising herself at how easy it was to talk civility to this wizard. She felt that it shouldn't be so natural. On the few occasions they had met before, he was attempting to kill her. They were enemies, and Hermione was hell-bent on turning him over to the aurors. Now they were married, and while perhaps not the most conventional, the conversation was mostly awkward but still pleasant. they weren't spitting venom at each other.

"It is a nice estate." He commented.

"How can this be so simple?" She muttered.

"What?"

"Talking to you?" She elaborated. "We are not fighting."

"I am tired of fighting. I didn't request your hand so I could hold power over you and throw insults your way. I want to put the past behind us."

"I don't think I can." She said. "Not that I won't try to, but you managed to erase my whole life with a piece of paper, it's not that simple for me, even if it is for you. I can't forget that easily."

"I could help you." He offered. Hermione realized what he meant. He was saying he could obliviate her, clean her mind of all of her memories, all of the stuff she was no longer allowed to call her own. She shuddered at the thought, thinking of her parents, she couldn't have done what she did to them. She shook her head.

"No. I don't want to forget." She told him.

"If you ever change your mind..." He trailed off.

"I will let you know." She commented and then yawned. Rabastan stood from the chair he had occupied in the sitting room, and bowed slightly.

"I will leave you to your rest, Ma Cherie." Rabastan decided. "Breakfast is in the dining room at 9. Please be there, we still have much to discuss."

"I will see you in the morning, My Lord."

"Hermione, when we are home, I'd appreciate if you would call me Rabastan."

"Rabastan." Hermione amended. He smiled and they parted ways as he crossed through the adjoining door to his own room.

* * *

Tired as she may have been, Hermione did not go to bed. Her mind was still too active to sleep. She wondered how they were supposed to coexist. They were very different people, and they were thrown together to live out the rest of their lives.

Hermione's life was in shambles. She wasn't stupid, she knew she could never go back to the way things were before. When she saw Harry fall, for the second time, a piece of her died inside as well. And then Ron… Losing her other best friend, despite the fact that they had ups and downs, more often than she had ever had with Harry, was still painful to recall. She wanted to die then herself once they were gone. She was broken, tired of fighting, and had lost the driving force that kept carrying her on . With them gone, she had nothing to live for.

But no, she hadn't been killed, she had been sent to Azkaban. There was no way that after the battle and after a year in prison she was ever going to put the pieces of herself back together. Her soul was fragmented, and all she could do was look forward and try to mend the pieces as best she could.

The question was, could she do that with Rabastan. Could she replace her love for Ron, the man she had hoped to marry and pined after for years with the wizard who had his wand at her neck the first time she made his acquaintance? Could she find new friends to make up for the lost friendships? Could Narcissa replace her parents?

No. The answer was no. And she felt like she was betraying them all for even considering it. But she was alone, isolated and abandoned in a life she had never thought she would have. If she wanted to survive she would have to adapt. She only hoped she would be forgiven for it in the end.

And she wasn't without realization that this life was a little better. A dark part of her subconscious reminded her that if she was considered a pureblood she wouldn't be persecuted. With Harry dead, there was no more war. No fighting, no starving and freezing in a tent in the woods. No more trying to run and hide from the dark wizards who even now adopted her into their society. There was a sick sense of giddy in that for Hermione, and that scared her.

The potential to just up and walk away from everything she once believed to be amongst the people she had once despised, was a sweet temptation dangling before her, but that would be the ultimate betrayal. So Hermione was going to have to try and get along in this new world without letting herself convert into one of them completely. For the sake of her own sanity she couldn't let it go that far.

But how to do you coexist with somebody you once hated.? How to you continue to hate someone who took you out of the frozen tundra from one of the circles of hell? How do you live with feelings that are always contradicting each other? How do you thrive in a word that is the absence of light and life?

Quietly Hermione padded from her sitting room to the library. She couldn't sleep and she didn't want to think anymore so she was going to choose a book. She found one easily, Hogwarts a History, her all-time favorite. The sight of the tome was enough to make Hermione feel a little better, as she hugged it to her chest. She had to pass Rabastan's study on the way back. The door was cracked open and she could see the light from the fireplace. She paused, catching tidbits of voices.

"How could you? …. A mudblood?" A voice Hermione didn't recognize seemed to shout.

"I don't expect you to understand, nor do I require your blessing father." Rabastan said wearily.

Hermione quickly continued down the hallway, not wanting to be caught and once safe in her bed called for her elf. When Notty appeared Hermione relaxed slightly.

"Notty, where are my pajama's?" Hermione asked. Notty snapped her boney fingers and the warm, cotton, majestic purple, matching set flew out from one of the drawers in the wardrobe. Hermione sighed happily, after the raggedy, paper thin, and scratch prison uniform, waking up in these at Malfoy manor had been a great relief. It was a luxury Hermione immensely enjoyed. She slipped them on quickly and then turned to her elf.

"Notty, would you please send for some hot cocoa and biscuits from the kitchens, I think it will help me sleep."

"Yes Mistress!" Notty said and disappeared at once. Hermione dropped the charms that held her hair and make-up in place and settled herself into the bed and the comfortable sheets. A moment later the hot chocolate arrived.


	7. How do you Retaliate Without a Wand?

**A/N: Thank you so much for all of my readers and the feedback you guys are giving this story. I also want to thank, give a round of applause and a huge hug to my beta VenomandVine for all of the work and love she gives the story as she edits it. Here is chapter 7's update, I am so sorry for the delay in posting the past week, but here you are now. I hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

How do you Retaliate Without a Wand?

Rabastan didn't go to bed immediately after leaving Hermione in her rooms. The hour was still early and he had several duties to oversee, so he made his way to his study. The room was cozy and masculine with dark wood walls and thick, earth toned carpeting. Dozens of portraits adorned the walls, most of which threw sneers at him as he sat behind the desk. He ignored them as he set to work managing the families investments, but when his father began berating him, there was no tuning him out.

Rabastan's father had been a terrifying man, obstinate in his ways and a firm believer in blood-purity. He was a wizard who punished first and asked questions later. Rabastan had been on the receiving end of his belt or his wand many, many times. He had never been a favorite child, Rodolphus had that privilege. Rod was, after all, the firstborn, the scion to their house and heir to the families vast fortune. Rabastan was just a necessary spare that his father could not be bothered with aside from correcting his childish behavior.

"You have some nerve sitting in that chair," hissed the angry voice of the man who raised him. Rabastan sighed.

"It is my chair now, father. Rod failed to hold it by not providing an heir, somebody has to." He replied to the portrait.

"And you think you have what it takes?" The angry picture shouted.

"Considering my new wife is already pregnant, I believe I do."

"And that!" His father spat out. "That is another issue entirely. How could you marry that? You think it's acceptable to bring a mudblood into our house?"

"She is a pureblood now, or didn't Rod tell you?"

"A Mudblood!" The frame shook as the deceased wizard insisted on his position.

"I don't expect you to understand father. Nor do I require your blessing. You are dead and what's done is done." Rabastan said wearily, not five minutes in and the argument was already wearing him down.

"Damn well you don't!" His father replied furiously. "I am still your father boy, and you will respect me. I can't believe you are actually breeding with it."

"What would you have me do? Let our line die out?" Rabastan asked finally.

"Better that than you sully the good name of this family! Trying to pass off whatever spawn you create with that filth as the heir, as legitimate. Half-blood mongrels. No better than a dog."

"Need I remind you, she is my wife, any children produced would in fact be legitimate. Also, Hermione is considered a pureblood so it doesn't even make my children half-bloods."

"A piece of paper does not a pureblood make. Her blood is still filthy and she is nothing more than dirt. You do your house a disservice by bringing her here." The portrait continued to argue.

"Enough!" Rabastan bellowed authoritatively. "Let me make myself abundantly clear father. You are dead, nothing more than a canvas full of paint, and very easy to dispose of. I am now the head of this house and I refuse to defend that to you or anyone else. One more word from you and I will order you removed from the wall and thrown in storage where the light doesn't shine."

"Rodulphus wouldn't let that happen!" the portrait started, but Rabastan interrupted.

"Rodolphus no longer has any say to stop me, so go ahead, give me a reason. Push me too far, father, and I'll see that you are set on fire!" Rabastan threatened. The portrait of Reginald Lestrange remained silent, knowing when he was defeated. Rabastan felt the tension dissipate from his body and went back to work, finishing the inventory report as quickly as possible.

When he finished, he made his way to his own bed as quickly as possible. Arranging himself in his bed his thought drifted to his pregnant wife. The way they discovered she was pregnant, was cruel, despite the ritual at the ceremony all but guaranteeing she would be with child by morning. Rabastan didn't find the circumstance ideal, if only because he wasn't sure where they stood or how she would cope. However, he was proud of how well she maintained her composure at breakfast when the dark lord shocked her with the revelation. The moment his master announced which ritual would be used he resigned himself that his heir would arrive earlier than anticipated, but he still felt a pang of guilt for what he had subjected Hermione to. She had not asked for any of this. He eventually fell asleep, resolving to speak with his wife about the whole situation.

* * *

Hermione awoke quite early the next day. She hadn't slept well, tossing and turning unable to shut her racing thoughts down enough to get some shut eye. The hot chocolate she ordered before bed had helped a bit. The warm milk in the beverage soothed her enough to not be so wound up and managed to make her eyelids droop just enough that she didn't get more than twenty pages read in Hogwarts a History. However, despite being tired and sleepy the thoughts poured in and sleep was inevitable, but she too exhausted to read.

Finally, just after dawn, she called it quits, the restlessness, the light streaming in from the window, and the sharp insistent pain in her forehead too much to contend with and still sleep. So she rose from the bed.

While Hermione had found her favorite book last night, and opted for the reassurance of an old friend, she also knew she need to seek out books that would give her insight into her current predicament; her pregnancy. As an only child she had never had the experience of seeing her mom pregnant. She had been surrounded by large families like the Weasley's growing up, but was never witness to any of the children's pregnancies or births, as she and Ginny were only a year apart. To put it frankly, she had no idea what to expect. Certainly she had seen many pregnant women in her 19 years of life, but the were strangers in passing or friends of her parents whom she never saw much. So here she was expecting a new baby, newly conceived, with only anecdotes and wives tales, like how her mum never ate pickles again after craving them all the time or how much morning sickness sucked. She wanted to find a book to better explain pregnancy so she could better prepare herself for what lay ahead.

She didn't particularly care for her appearance, she just wanted to get out of her rooms and may way for the library. The library at Lestrange Hall wasn't overly large, but was still housed more books than Hermione would own herself. She figured the actual amount of books there were comparable to a small bookshop. It had a warm and welcoming atmosphere, with a fireplace and sitting area, rich hues of autumn, golden yellows, burnt oranges, soft reds, and faded greens, with the aroma of parchment both fresh and old. It was the most happy and carefree she had felt in a considerably long time.

However, it soon became clear that the library would be no safe haven for her. She was alone, or so she thought, in the room early that morning. She had just located the section of books she sought when an annoyed, nasty sigh filled the quiet space. It was quickly followed by a sneered comment.

"Is it possible for me to go anywhere in this house that you are not?" Rodolphus, she realized. She turned to face him.

"I am told I had quite the reputation with your lot back in the day," Hermione mused, "my proclivity for reading should be enough warning for one to assume that anywhere there is a library, is where I'll be." It was sassy and sarcastic remark, so it didn't surprise her that it only fueled the dark, older wizard's discontent.

"You also had the reputation for being a good fuck when you were in prison. I've been meaning to test the theory." He leered at her, and only too late Hermione noticed that the burly wizard was too close, too quick for her to move past him.

"Too bad for you I'm married."

"That never stopped me," he threatened lowly and stepped closer. Feeling trapped and at a loss of what else to say, Hermione screamed. Later she would think that she could have hit him with a book. Unfortunately, the useful thoughts like that one normally only occurred after the fact. Rodolphus recoiled when she opened her lungs to the house and stepped away. It wouldn't do to have his brother find out his intentions.

"Just you wait little mudblood. My brother won't always be around to save you, and the next time I have you alone, I won't wait for you to scream." He warned right before Rabastan ran into the room.

Rabastan, not an idiot, didn't take long to sense what had transpired upon seeing Hermione backed into a bookcase, and Rodulphus hovering near her, a menacing expression on his features.

"Hermione," he said. "Go back to your room." The witch didn't move. "Now," He added. She shifted and moved towards him. He watched her until she vanished through the door before glaring at his brother.

He had to be careful with him, Rod was a Slytherin.

"Brother." He began calmly.

"Don't even start." His elder sibling spat.

"No. You don't get to down play it this time, Rod. I am not joking when I say that I will not hesitate to report you. Do not mess with my wife." He hissed.

"I don't consider her to be your wife. Bitch is a fucking mudblood."

"She is my wife. She is my pregnant wife and you will stay away from her. You have a small library in your own ward of the house, aside from meals there is no reason for you to enter this wing, and you deliberately did so to scare her. Do it again and you won't like what you happens."

"You are not always around, Bas." Rodolphus warned ominously.

"You really think I don't have a failsafe to protect her. I've been planning this for a long time, brother. Don't test me. Resent me all you want but you will treat Hermione with respect."

"She had a hand in killing Bella." The other wizard protested.

"You hated Bella. Told me you were glad she was dead, so don't even go there. Hermione is the lady of this house and she already carries the next heir, something you never provided. You can hate me for taking your place all you want, complain to father all you want, but she had better not face your retaliation."

"Fuck you." Rodolphus yelled.

"Yeah, fuck me. But she is off limits. Now go." Rabastan ordered and waited as his brother stomped off, back to his own level of the house. When he was sure Rodolphus was gone, he went off to find Hermione. He knocked on the adjoining bedroom door, assuming correctly, that it would ease her nerves less than if he knocked directly on her door.

* * *

He didn't wait for a reply before entering. She was curled on the bed with a bunch of books strewn around her, analyzing the titles.

"Hermione," he called out gently to grab her attention.

"I'm fine." She replied.

"What happened, exactly?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it damned well does." Rabastan growled.

"I was getting books, I wanted books on pregnancy, and he cornered me. I don't know what he intended, but I only have a wand that works for cosmetic and household charms, not my wand that I could hex his bollocks off with so I screamed before he could do anything."

"He threatened you." Rabastan said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed irritably. "Newsflash Rabastan, his wife tortured me, I helped kill her, I broke into your family vault at Gringotts, I'm not his favorite person, and he is bigger, stronger and more powerful than me and he knows it, so yes he threatened me."

"He shouldn't, but if he does bother you again, you must let me know immediately."

"Sure." She shrugged. "But little good that does me if I can't protect myself against him."

"You already know I can't give you your wand back yet." Rabastan explained as if she were a child, slow to understand.

"And why not?" Her temper flared. "That paper tells me that I'm a pureblood, with no outstanding criminal record, and no longer wanted for any reason. Why shouldn't I have a wand, like every other lady out there?"

"Because not every witch in our circle was Potter's best friend." Rabastan said coldly.

"Exactly, as I thought. That paper changes nothing, I'm still considered a threat, and I'm still being punished for it. You took me away from one prison, but I'm still a prisoner just with a considerably larger, nicer cage." Hermione bit out.

"I'll see you at breakfast, Madame." Rabastan drawled, effectively ending the argument before he could lose his temper.

"Fine." His wife retorted. "Walk away and don't acknowledge the truth." Rabastan didn't dignify her outburst with a reply. He just walked out. It was only seven in the morning, and he had been asleep when she screamed. He wasn't going to get back to sleep, but he wasn't ready to start his day either.

He had to admit she was right, as angry as her commentary made him, she was spot on. He was withholding her wand from her, and she was a witch. She was no longer an inmate in Azkaban, and she was pardoned, and besides that, now married. She wore a bracelet that allowed him to find her anywhere she would be if she tried to run, which so far, she hadn't even attempted to do. It was true that Narcissa had provided a monitored wand capable of casting beauty and household charms. However, it wasn't capable of much else. He could see why Hermione, his brilliant and powerful witch, would only see it as a crappy placehold. It wouldn't accomplish any of the spells or charms she relied on normally.

The only reason he kept her wand away from her was because she was powerful and knew how to use it. He didn't want her to have the means to retaliate against him, and that wasn't fair because she hadn't given him any reason to fear her doing so. And with Rodolphus around, it would be a tool she could use to protect her.

* * *

Hermione was stewing in her room, waiting until breakfast would begin. She was mad in general, but not at Rabastan specifically. He just bore the brunt of her frustrations. He felt unsafe everywhere in this house, around these people. Rabastan was the only person, aside from Narcissa, who made an effort to make her feel comfortable and at ease, like she belonged. But she couldn't help feeling like she was still a prisoner when she didn't have her wand.

She dressed for breakfast. As she dug clothes out of the wardrobe, she cursed Narcissa for not allowing her pants. She was tempted to just go down in the pajamas she wore, but after the incident with the elder Lestrange, she didn't want to. Not that real clothes would be a barrier against him should he decide to come after her, but it made her at the very least feel more protected from his gaze that seemed to suggest he could see through her clothes. So she selected a skirt that fell to her knees in a pretty floral pattern, and paired it with a white cashmere sweater.

Using the wand that she had been given to comply with Narcissa's standards of being a proper lady, she glamoured her face to have eyeliner and mascara and a pale pink gloss on her lips. Then she charmed her hair to be free of frizz and have soft, shining ringlet curls falling down her back. Satisfied with her appearance, she knocked on the adjoining door to Rabastan's room.

She didn't want to be alone in the house, even for the walk down to the dining room, and she hoped that her husband hadn't left yet. It was just short of the hour breakfast was being served. A moment after her rap on the door, it opened and she was greeted by a half dressed Rabastan, his hair wavy and not yet brushed, still wet from his shower. She gaped at his well-toned chest, and he smirked slowly.

"Yes, Hermione?" He asked.

"Ummm, I was err, I was wondering if you would walk with me to breakfast. I don't want to walk alone in the halls." He frowned at her statement. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable in her own home.

"Sure. Just let me finish, and then I'll come through for you." He agreed.

"Of course. Thank you." Hermione stated as he closed the door. Hermione took those last few minutes to organize the books she had just grabbed from the library. Meanwhile Rabastan chuckled to himself, at her reaction to seeing his naked torso. On their wedding night, it had been dark, and he hadn't given her much opportunity to explore his assets, so he knew that was her first good look at him, and he was pleased that she seemed to like what she saw.

However, her statement that she was not willing to walk from her rooms to the dining room alone made him reach a decision. He wondered how she felt knocking on his door, asking him for help, even though she had been fighting with him just an hour before. He sighed. His little witch didn't feel safe in her home, and he wanted her to see him as her ally, as her protector, as he endeavored to be, but he didn't want her to feel she couldn't leave her rooms if he wasn't unavailable. Throwing on a white oxford and a black suit coat, he opened a drawer in his dresser and pocketed her vinewood wand that he had collected from the guard at Azkaban. Then he saw himself through the doorway dividing their rooms and escorted her to breakfast.


	8. When Should You Show Gratitude?

**A/N: Hey guys. I just want to say that due to the fact that I'm having a mild case of writer's block, in which i'm suffering from keeping my preferred length for chapters, and some other demands on my time that I am moving this story to a bi-weekly update. I as always want to thank all of you for your supporting reviews and favorites. And of course, big kudos to my beta Venomandvine for her diligent efforts as well. That said, here is chapter 8, enjoy.**

* * *

When Should You Show Gratitude?

The newlyweds walked down to the dining room together that morning, arm in arm. Rabastan decided to wait until a good moment at breakfast to present Hermione with her wand. As it happened, that moment occurred almost as soon as they entered the formal dining room. While they paced down the length of the table to their chairs, the witch turned to him and said, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, ma Cherie?" Rabastan asked, as he pulled out her chair.

"For dumping my pent-up frustration on you this morning. I was scared and upset over what happened in the library and I'm annoyed because I feel so helpless. It's not fair to take it out on you when you have been very generous in your treatment of me. I have not been treated unkindly, and I'm in a better standing than I feared I would be when you first came for me." The witch elaborated her apology. Rabastan pushed her chair back in before he replied.

"I appreciate your apology, ma Cherie. However, I can't say that your outburst was completely off-based. You made some very valid points, and I realize that despite being treated well, you have still not been treated equally or even respectably. Which is why…" He cut off and reached into the pocket of his suit coat. Slowly, as if pausing for a dramatic effect, he pulled out ten and three quarter inches of her wand.

Before he could even extend the wand towards her, he took note of the shocked but brilliantly shining expression in her eyes. He had never seen that light in her eyes. He was amazed by it. The sight of such joy warmed his heart and made him never want to see anything but that ever again. He handed her the conduit for her power.

The moment her smaller hand closed around the vinewood with a dragon heartstring core her magic sparked and sizzled with energy. Hermione was speechless merely looked from her hand holding her wand to her new husband and gaped at him.

With a gentle nature and an amused smile, he reached over to her and closed her mouth.

"My wand." She finally stated. "I uh, thank you."

"I didn't want you to feel unprotected. But I will ask you to make an unbreakable vow, to never use it against me with an intent to harm."

"What if you piss me off, I tend to hex first think later, and so do you want me to keel over dead from that?" She asked, though she couldn't fault him for his caution.

"Well no. fine I'll amended it to not using your wand against me with an intention of killing or severely injuring or attempting to escape."

"I can agree to those terms, I suppose." Hermione said, just relieved to finally have her wand back. It had been too long since she had held the conduit in her hand, and she could feel the swell of magic inside her by merely touching it. Rabastan acted as the bondsman for the vow. Hermione swore she would never use her wand against him for serious harm or as a means for escape, and Rabastan swore that he would never take her wand from her again.

When the vows were complete, breakfast arrived on the table. Hermione made to fill her plate but was stopped by Rabastan taking her hand in his. She looked up at him curiously.

"Allow me." He said and she nodded her assent. When he placed the plate in front of her, she saw he had selected an omelet, a small amount of bacon, hash browns, and fruit. It was not the breakfast she would have chosen. Before she voiced her preferences to him, she was struck by a realization. Rabastan had selected healthier options and portions than she would have. He was thinking of her and their unborn child. Clearly, she knew she was pregnant and was still trying to come to terms with that, but she hasn't even begun to consider how it would affect her food selection and nutritional intake **.**

"We should talk about the baby thing." She initiated a conversation.

Rabastan agreed. "We should."

"I don't…" She voiced but couldn't find a way to put her thoughts into words.

"You don't know anything about this do you?" he questioned. Hermione just shook her head gratefully for his supplement of her feelings.

"I don't. I've never really known anybody who was pregnant before, at least not at a time where I would want to learn things about it." She explained.

"I'm a little surprised. The brightest witch of her age is admitting to not knowing something." Rabastan teased.

"Well, I know the basic facts." She allowed. "It's just that I've never had a cause to study the subject in depth. It may have been different if I'd had more time to prepare, but I haven't and it's weird knowing that I know nothing and am already…"

"I would have also preferred more time to get to know you before having a child." Rabastan finished for her.

"Yeah." Hermione replied. "I don't like being unprepared for things. And here we are. So I'm reading books." She clarified.

"Of course you are," he commented dryly. "Is that why you were in the library so early this morning?"

"Yes." She admitted. "It was."

"Did you find anything?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I didn't actually read them yet," she confessed. "I don't even know anything about what you want in a family."

"Well," Rabastan began, suddenly having realized how forced into this she must feel. "I need an heir. A male heir to carry on my family name and legacy. But I've never been close with my brother because my father favored him over me, so it was isolating. I felt like an only child even though I wasn't one. I don't want that for my son, so I've always wanted a bigger family."

"That's understandable. I've always wanted at least two myself, being an only child an all." Hermione responded and then was hit by a flood of emotion thinking about her parents. Unwelcome tears pooled in her eyes. "Perhaps not a family as big as the Weasley's," she mentioned in an attempt to stop thinking about them but it only brought another wave of pain and regret. She was soon sobbing over her uneaten breakfast.

Rabastan was at a loss. He was never good with crying witches so he felt out of his depth. However, he didn't even know what had brought on the sudden influx of tears. He could only imagine what his wife was feeling.

"Ma Cherie, why are you crying?" He finally asked.

"I'm sorry." She sobbed. "It's just hard. To remember them."

Ah. That was it, she was upset because of her losses. He had been entirely unsympathetic to her about that, he knew. He procured a pardon and for lack of better words, a status upgrade for her and informed her that it eliminated her past. Which meant that all of Hermione's memories, and cherished moments that made her who she was were considered nothing in his opinion.

He could have shown more empathy. He had lost many friends in this war, lost pieces of himself when he rotted away in Azkaban. He blocked out the pain and kept going, losing himself in the dark arts. Something she wouldn't be able to do.

"I know." He acknowledged. "I know it is. I'm sorry." He attempted compassion. It wasn't his forte. As a Slytherin he was good at manipulation, ambition, showing off, being clever, and not being kind. As a dark wizard he had done horrible, unspeakable acts and never showed remorse. "I'm complete shite at this, but I do know."

"I'm not really hungry, Rabastan." She said eventually.

"You should still eat something."

"Toast, with some marmalade?"

"As you wish." He remarked and placed some orange flavored jam over a piece of bread for her. "And some tea." He said pushing a mug of the hot herbal blend her way.

When he was satisfied that she had eaten and drank enough, he spoke once again, this time to pose a question. "We covered the inside of the estate on the tour yesterday. The estate is quite a bit more extensive. Would you like to escort me this morning to tour the grounds?"

Hermione looked up at him with an unreadable expression. The witch was in a difficult spot because on one hand she didn't want spend the day alone, but on the other hand she didn't want to spend all of her time in his company either. It all boiled down to the fact that she still didn't trust him. No amount of kindness, respect, good treatment or compromise could make up for the fact that he had always been an enemy of hers. She had opposed him in one too many battles and fights to be comfortable around him. She may be married to him but she had not made that choice. However, it was clear the wizard was attempting to gain her trust. Hermione found that it was a constant struggle, one she couldn't overcome, to choose between honoring her sense of self or surviving in the snake's den. Survival meant forsaking her beliefs and not only showing her enemies gratitude but respect as well. Sticking with her idea of what was right and wrong would cause even more conflict to breed between them. She wasn't ready to change her entire identity, but she was growing quickly accustomed to he longer leash. All in all, she didn't see the harm in accompanying Rastaban on the tour.

"I'd love to." She replied.

* * *

Hermione actually enjoyed the rest of the morning. The sun was shining, it was a warmer day out and Rabastan was not unpleasant company. The best part was Rodolphus was off brooding somewhere and wasn't around to bother the couple.

They spent the morning not only walking the exterior of Lestrange Hall, but asking questions in a genuine attempt to get to know each other. While in the front courtyard gardens Hermione inquired; "How many years apart are you and your brother?"

"Seven." Was Rabastan's reply. Mentally she calculated the age difference. Bellatrix was in the same year as Rodulphus who had been three years ahead of Sirius. Sirius was nineteen years older than she was, and would be four years older than Rabastan. Which made Rabastan 15 years her elder. He was only 34 years old.

"You are younger than I expected." She commented as they walked down the gravel path that led to the back gardens. When they reached the back Rabastan explained to her that the front gardens were made up only of muggle plants whereas the larger gardens were a mix of magical and muggle.

"When the estate was first remodeled, in the fifteen hundreds, there was a muggle village down below that the tower overlooked. Not wanting to draw suspicion to the fact they were wizards my ancestors decided that they shouldn't draw attention to themselves. Over the years of course generations added to the gardens producing plants, herbs and flowers only known in the wizarding world. Though nobody ever tampered with the muggle plants."

"It's beautiful." Hermione said in awe as they passed by a row of Asphodel. She was never all that skilled in Herbology, so she could name some but not most of the plants. It sure made her miss her friend Neville. Rabastan turned to her as they walked at a leisurely pace and admired the life before them.

"What would you have done if the outcome were different?" It was a risky question. They had not yet discussed the war in any logical sense, and the topic was a sensitive one. Like the fact that most of her friends were dead, and the ones who were not wanted to be. Or that he still served the man responsible for killing her best friend in front of her, that he had killed her peers himself. They hadn't talked about any of it. Rabastan, though not a Ravenclaw, was wise enough to know that skirting around the issue was a dangerous one, Merlin only knew what it would dredge up. But it was only a question that danced around the bigger picture, not one that focused on the outcome itself.

"I don't know, honestly. Never had given it much thought. I always liked school though, so perhaps gone into teaching. Maybe not at Hogwarts." She replied.

"Oh?" Rabastan asked curiously.

"But I suppose it doesn't matter now." Hermione said disdainfully. "It wasn't the outcome and now I'm a purebloods wife, so it's not like I could teach now anyway."

"Who told you that?" He asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Narcissa drilled into me the duties of a proper witch. Having an occupation outside the home was not one of them." Hermione spat.

"Good thing for you then, you didn't marry Narcissa." He teased her. He noticed how her expression turned slightly hopeful, and he smiled picturing the witch as a teacher. He could actually see that for her. "Tell me, what would you teach?"

"I like younger children." Hermione began. "By the time they are Hogwarts aged they are already bratty. I suppose I would want to teach younger children before they head off to school."

They reached a small pond that was just past the gardens. It wasn't particularly noticeable from the house itself, and to its left was a small forest while to its right the stables.

"It's never been done, aside from private tutoring." He commented, continuing the discussion.

"I know." She replied. "I think that's why I would want to do it. Too many children go off to school without understanding their abilities, and they ought to before going." Hermione hadn't said exactly what she meant but the words hung unspoken in the air between them. Muggle-borns. Muggles had no clue about the wizarding world, and for magical children born to them, receiving their Hogwarts letter was quite a shock. Rabastan paused, considering what she was suggesting. All of those years serving his master and dealing with blood purists so afraid that muggle-borns threatened exposing magic, he wondered if anybody had thought of what his wife had. If these children could be taught from a young age what they were, and what they could do, the risk of exposure would be lessened. Muggle-borns would be just like any other member of the wizarding world, not seen as a dangerous pariah. there would be no need to persecute them. It was, at the very least, an idea worth considering. Though he wouldn't mention that to Hermione just yet.

"Whatever happened to Hogwarts?" The witch asked. It just occurred to her that she hadn't heard anything of it since she was removed from Azkaban.

"Don't ask questions you may not want the answers to." Rabastan replied, and she knew it was bad. She debated with herself about telling him that she did want to know, but she concluded that she wasn't so sure about that. She opted to change the subject.

"The grounds really are remarkable, is there much more to them?" He chuckled.

"No ma petite. This is it, unlike the Malfoy's my family didn't feel the need for a private Quiddach pitch." Hermione wrinkled her nose, she had never cared for sports, but she honestly felt that one was as abhorrent as it was dangerous. "Come on, let's head to the stables. You should pick out your own mare." He finished.

They did just that. The stables were actually maintained very well, and in the front housed horses, real muggle horses. Hermione had always loved horses, not as much as cats, but she always wanted a pony growing up, like most little girls she supposed. The third stall on the left housed a beautiful chestnut mare with a thick, dark black mane. It whined at her and flared its nostrils as she approached. Hermione extended her hand slowly, not wanting to spook or intimidate the mare, and it sniffed her hand before butting it with her head.

"This beauty is called walnut." Rabastan informed. "It seems you found your match."

"She is very sweet." Hermione shared.

"Yes she is. Five years old. Her grandmother was my mother's. When she died my father used my mother's horse as a breeding mare, until she was too old. Then he had her put down."

"I don't think I would have liked you father." Hermione huffed.

"Trust me I agree full heartedly with that assessment." What he didn't say was that the feeling was mutual. His father despised her because of her birth.

Exploring the rest of the stables revealed the pet hippogriff Queenie, and the team of thestrals. Of course she could see them now, all opaque, skin and bones. They were a little terrifying to look at.

"They pull the carriage." Rabastan said.

"You have a carriage?"

"It's used for when we attend formal functions, not like the Hogwarts carriages."

"I see."

"It's getting late." Rabastan said. "And you didn't eat much for breakfast. I think we should head back for lunch."

"Okay." Hermione was amenable to the idea and they began the walk back up to the house.

The couple parted ways after lunch. Rabastan had business matters to attend to, and Hermione said that she really should begin reading the books she selected. She thanked him one last time for returning her wand. It was an unexpected gift and as she held it occurred to her that she might be warming to him a bit more.

Instead of reading, Hermione recorded the morning's events in the little book. She contemplated what she was feeling. Was it merely gratitude, or was it something more, or something else? Should she feel this way? Should she show it more to him? When she finished writing she curled up in the window seat and looked out at the gardens below. She wondered what had happened to her school since the battle. She thought of Neville again as she observed the plants from her perch. What had happened to him?She knew for certain about Harry and Ron, because she watched them fall. But the rest of her peers, her friends and allies, she had no idea. Part of her wanted to know, but a greater part of her realized that she was too frightened. If she didn't know, if Rabastan never told her, or anybody else for that matter, she could pretend, or make up scenarios for them in her head. But if she was sure, she wouldn't be able to overlook the truth. But she had to know, she thought. She had gone on long enough not knowing.


	9. How do you Overcome?

**A/N: A heartfelt thanks to all of you for your incredible patience. I know it has been way longer than I would have liked since updating and I'm sure frustrating to all of you. I wanted to keep up the way i have been going with editing the chapter before posting and I had to find a new beta to help me do that. I appreciate all of the reviews you guys have posted in the meantime, and would like to introduce and thank me new beta Vino Amore for her handwork on this as well. I hope you all enjoy chapter 9, and I will get chapter 10 out soon. Hopefully i will have a set schedule for updates in the next coming chapters here as well.**

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How Do You Overcome?

Hermione began devouring the how-to and what to expect books she had grabbed from the library with gusto. She poured over the words one line at a time, one book after another. It was a lot to process, and she was reading too fast to really allow her mind to absorb the concepts and analyze them, but she didn't stop. She had always had a near eidetic memory, she knew she wouldn't have a problem recalling the details of what she read later. She told herself she would think about it all later, but for now the more she read the better. And this is how Hermione spent her afternoon following the tour of the grounds and lunch with her husband. It was easier to read about her situation than it was to think about it.

She was so wrapped up in her task that she didn't noticed Rabastan opened the door adjoining their rooms. He leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms, dark hair hanging in his eyes watching her read. It was some time that he stood admiring her. She was exquisite when she held a book, her wild curls were fly-away and thrown into a messy bun because she couldn't be bothered with them. The speed with which she consumed the words and turned to the next page was inspiring, and just the sight of his wife so involved in her task made his cock stiffen. She had no idea how beautiful she looked, perched on the little window seat with the setting sun illuminating her hair in a golden glow, she appeared to be a sexy little angel, and as his desire for her grew, he took immense pleasure in knowing she was all his.

However, the evening was setting in and the dinner hour would soon be upon them. Rabastan sadly had to disturb the moment and announce his unnoticed presence. "Good evening, wife," he called out.

Hermione gave a little start, jumping a little when the deep, masculine voice of her husband suddenly sounded from across her room. She whipped her head around to face the direction the voice had come from, and saw him standing in the doorway. She nodded once in acknowledgment before she said, "Hello Rabastan."

"I see you have been busy," he commented, "have you spent all afternoon reading?"

"I have," she confirmed. "Well most of it at least."

He wanted to express to her how much he wanted her right then, but the timing was off, and he reckoned that she wouldn't appreciate the sentiment. "I wanted to check in, Dinner will be in a little over an hour. Would you like me to escort you?" There, he thought, now his reasoning for checking in didn't seem as though he was simply reminding her of her obligation to be at dinner. He had put reason to his presence.

"No, thank you," Hermione replied. "I think I will be just fine on my own, now that my wand as been returned to me." She added with a smile.

"Good, well then, I'll see you shortly." He reluctantly rose into an upright position, not wanting to leave but, having run out of conversation to provide a reason to stay. He wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed her company earlier, but couldn't find the right words, instead he shot her a melancholy smile and ducked back into his room.

Hermione sighed deeply as Rabastan disappeared and shut the door behind him. She closed the book she had been reading after placing a feather to mark her page. She slowly rose from the little spot she occupied and began digging through the wardrobe for something more formal to wear to dinner.

The practice of changing for dinner was still so foreign and old-fashioned for her. Of course, she came from a modern well-to-do family, not that she could talk about that fact. Her parents, as dentists, made a decent living, she grew up in a comfortable lifestyle, but they had never been the type of people to host dinner parties or such things. Therefore, the idea of getting dressed-up every single night just to walk down to her new home's dining room made her feel like she had stepped into an 18th century novel. It seemed silly to her, but such was the customs of these people she was now surrounded by, and unable to change it she had to conform.

Not finding anything in her closet that she felt like wearing, the amount of clothes stuffed into the space was overwhelming, Hermione called for Notty.

"Mistress?" the elf squeaked as it appeared in the chamber.

"I don't know what to wear to dinner tonight, would you choose something while I take a bath please?"

"Of course, Mistress." Notty replied and Hermione smiled tightly wishing that the elf would just call her Hermione, and retreated for the bathroom.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, Rabastan was on the other side of the wall, a powerful silencing charm around his own master bath. As the hot water cascaded down his back from the shower, the wizard was stroking the rigid length of his erection and fantasizing about Hermione. He visualized the sight of her reading, her belly round and heavy with his child, and the golden light shining on her brunette curls. Much like she was absorbed completely today, she wouldn't notice his presence right away, and he would quietly remove his boots, and his shirt before padding noiselessly across her carpeted floor to a chair. He would sit there for a minute or so before she noticed him, and he would smirk as her skin flushed as she took in the sight of him shirtless. He groaned as his hand slipped up and down his swollen member once more as he pictured it. Then he saw his beautiful witch getting up slowly from her seat and smile at him slowly, seductively before kneeling before him. She would ever so slowly, sink down, undo his trouser buttons and pull his cock free before taking him in her mouth. Rabastan increased his tempo as he pretended that his own hand was his wife's lips around his cock, sucking him, teasing him, and he soon came with her name whispered on his lips. His seed was washed down the drain by the water, and he leaned against the tiled wall panting as he regained his equilibrium post climax.

When his breathing evened out, he made quick work of getting clean and stepped out of the shower. His was more relaxed now that he had relieved himself of the tension he had been feeling most of the day. He'd only been married for two days, and he already couldn't get the witch out of his thoughts. He was like a horny school-boy he thought, irritated with himself. He hated that he felt this way when he couldn't have the witch. Not if he wanted to make progress in their relationship at least. He, arguably, could exert his will over her as his husband and have her by rights, but he wasn't one to enjoy rape. That aside, he also knew that forcing her into anything, a right to do so or not, would not bode well for getting the witch to like him or trust him. He wanted her, but he wanted her willing, wanting him, begging for him to have his wicked way with her. He could wait, but the waiting was the hard part. He resigned himself to the fact that it would just be him and his hand for the foreseeable future and he sighed loudly.

* * *

Hermione, meanwhile, finished her own bath which relaxed her in every way except sexually. Notty had added potions and herbs that helped relax her tense muscles, fill the air with a soothing lavender smell that calmed her, and provided quality soaps and shampoos that made Hermione feel more cleansed than she had ever been. The witch was in a pleasant mood, now that she had been able to meditate in the hot water. Notty had selected a gown of emerald green lace for her. The material fell to her ankles, but had a cutting neckline which exposed the creamy, pale, skin of her cleavage. The dress also hat a narrow but long slit that went up to her thigh on the right side. It was sleeveless, but Notty had summoned a matching sheer wrap that draped over her shoulders and upper arms.

"It's missing something Mistress," the elf decided as when Hermione turned to face her for inspection. With a snap of her fingers an emerald pendant and earing set settled onto Hermione. When she had arrived at Lestrange Hall, she had been given the Jewelry that belonged to Rabastan's mother and other ancestor's. She wasn't thrilled by the idea of wearing anything that had graced the person of Bellatrix, and had accidently voiced as much. Her ungrateful muttering had caused Rabastan to chuckle as he informed her that Bella had never worn any of those jewels. Bellatrix had brought her own jewelry as the only heir to the Black family, with Sirius disowned and Regulus dead Hermione had realized, and refused to wear anything that may have ever graced the body of a half-blood. Rabastan explained that there were some cases in which a Lestrange son married a half-blood, not many granted, but the fact that there were any cases at all meant that the line was tainted in the insane witch's view. She prided herself in coming from a line that was completely pure. Hermione doubted that it was true that there were no half-bloods in their ancestry anywhere, but seeing as the Black's were prone to blasting off blood traitors from their family tree, she couldn't really know for sure. When her husband explained that the woman never touched the family jewel box, Hermione smiled and accepted them gladly.

Now the Jewelry box was housed in the wardrobe, and as she looked at her reflection, Hermione recognized the emeralds as one of the sets that had belonged to Rabastan's mother, Anastacia. She had to admit, that despite being completely green and more Slytherin than she would care to be, she looked positively stunning. Notty continued working on Hermione's hair. It would look better down, but with it being frizzy, even with the aid of hair charms, it never looked quite right. Notty, was not only able to tame the wild curls, but she was able to reduce the curls themselves so that they were only wavy remnants of Hermione's normally unmanaged ringlets. She gasped when she saw what the elf had accomplished.

"How?" she asked.

"Elf-magic, Mistress." Came her reply. Of course, elf-magic was very secret and mysterious, so Notty wouldn't elaborate. Impressed by the already beautiful work, Hermione opted for a light coat of mascara, a hint of rosy rogue, and opaque pink lip-gloss before deciding she was ready. She admired herself in the mirror a moment, finding it odd and overly fancy for just an evening in, but overcome by how different she looked with just a little effort. She might be unused to the custom, but she didn't think she would have any problem with it if she always felt the rush she did now, like she was a fairy princess.

After a moment she smiled, and thanked Notty for her help and grabbed her wand from the bedside table and departed for the dining room.

Rabastan rose to his feet without thinking about it when Hermione entered the dinning room. It was more habitual than it was intentional, and so ingrained in him from his upbringing that it didn't even require a thought to complete anymore. When he took note of her appearance however, he had to catch himself so as not to gape at her like a fish. It didn't matter that he had showered before dinner, and had a good wank, because his groin stirred at the sight of her as if he hadn't just relieved himself shortly before.

The first thing he noticed was the color, his house color. But he then saw the low cut of the gown, the peek-a-boo slit that stretched from her ankle to her thigh, and he felt himself harden even as his breath hitched.

He smiled at her as she took her seat before saying, "you look stunning ma cherie," and sitting himself.

"Thank you," she blushed shyly. "I've learned some things this afternoon," the witch initiated.

"Tell me?" He requested hopefully.

"I've learned that common myths like craving unusual foods and morning sickness isn't quite true. For instance morning sickness doesn't occur in all pregnant women and if it does it varies in intensity. I've also discovered that my magic is more prone to act up because of the increase in hormones. The further along in my pregnant I am , the more chances there are for a magical outburst of some kind. Usually by that point witches are staying at home."

"Interesting," Rabastan replied. He had never paid close attention to pregnant witches or cared enough to learn anything on the subject. But now he almost wish he had. The two of them were going in blind and in a few short months they would be parents.

"The thing is," Hermione continued before he could comment further, "that apart from the basic overview, this isn't something one can learn from books. I mean, I know that things to avoiding eating and doing during pregnancy, what to expect from the first year as a parent, but the experience itself is just going to unfold as we go along."

"I know," he agreed. "I wish that I knew more about this, or at the very least gave you more time to get settled in here before you had to be weighed down with the burden of a child." Rabastan sighed.

"I am aware, and you can thank Narcissa for that, of the circumstances being out of your control Rabastan. I'm sure you would have done things differently if you could have and I don't blame you for our current predicament."

"I would hope not," slurred Rodolphus from the doorway as he stalked towards the table. Hermione tensed at his sudden arrival, and Rabastan felt the beginning of a headache from. "After all, you should be thanking my little brother hear for improving your situation considerably."

Hermione ignored him. She was sick of these people thinking that she should be grateful to them. They wiped out her whole past with one fucking document. Her parents no longer her parents, her fight alongside the light no longer a problem, her friends dead and meant to be forgotten, her entire life just supposed to be erased and redone. A mudblood to a purebloods, an order member to a deatheaters wife, a criminal to an aristocratic... She vowed that there would come a time when she would show them how resentful she was. Now, was not that time so she just tightened her lips into a thin smile and sat idly by, waiting for the day she would have her opportunity.

There was so much the couple had to overcome. Rabastan had to figure out how to resist his desire for her. Hermione had to put aside her past and focus on surviving the snake pit. Both had to battle against the fact that they had too much history and none of it good. If they wanted to be successful, wanted to achieve some semblance of a happy or content life with each other, they couldn't go on as they were. She knew it. He knew it. The question was, how did one overcome? When the conflict was at its peak, how did they resolve it. Neither Rabastan or Hermione knew the answer.

"Dolph, it's rude to criticize when you only heard half the conversation." Rabastan admonished his brother.

"I was only showing the insolent swot her place." The other wizard replied darkly.

"Your drunk." Hermione accused. "You're one to talk."

"What does me being drunk have any to do with showing you your place you filthy little bitch?" Rodolphus snarled.

"Drunkards don't belong in civilized company," the witch retorted, "it's poor manners to show up drunk. I should remind you of your place in this household."

"Enough," Rabastan sighed. "Hermione I am the head of this household and it is my job to remind any one of their place not yours. Rodolphus, I must say that she is correct however, in that it is unseemly for you to show up to dinner drunk. I strongly suggest you have Dotty bring food to your rooms, and never repeat this behavior in future."

Both his wife and his brother glared at him. Rodolphus because he despised the fact that Rabastan did in fact have power over him and was now treating him as he had been treated growing up. Hermione glared because she was powerless to defend herself or even her own honor when it came to these two men.

Rodolphus stomped out of the room at his brother's "suggestion" that wasn't a suggestion at all, more a command. Hermione stared at her hands and refused to speak all through dinner. Rabastan, now with a full headache, cursed at the way the night had gone and retreated to the study best pouring himself a stiff drink. One thing was certain. They had a long way to go.

* * *

Hermione made it back up to her room, and launched herself into her new favorite chair in her sitting room. Tears of rage, frustration and helplessness poured from her eyes and in the whirlwind of her current depression she grabbed for the one thing that helped her hold on to her sanity.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _It's a conundrum I seem to be stuck in. This situation is impossible. I am overwhelmed by the events as they stand, legally a pureblood, married, and, now, pregnant. It's enough on its own to make me cringe thinking of how much I've been altered, and to cause an unwavering sense of anxiety. I already feel out of place, in over my head, and incredibly lost. But to top of the problems I already face; I have a mercurial husband. Rabastan is a death eater, a fact I find convenient to overlook if not forget altogether. I shouldn't do so, he is my enemy, he is my friend's enemies he is by association partially responsible for Harry and Ron's deaths, and the predicament I am now faced with. But before Azkaban, before the battle and fighting a war against his kind, I didn't see the softer side to him. He is gentle in nature, more patient than I give him credit for, and, merlin knows, can be sweet. Which is why I'm confused, he isn't what I expect when I think about being married to a death eater, rather the opposite. However, the moment I lapse in my animosity towards his affiliation, the second I let my guard down and let myself think that perhaps this life isn't the worst thing imaginable, he shifts personas. Like at dinner, our conversation was going well, smoothly even, until his repugnant brother appeared. I wonder at how quickly he loses his relaxed state, and if it's because of other people's presence and influence or what. It's infuriatingly frustrating, he makes me so mad, being kind one moment and the next serving the coldest reminder imaginable of my place in this world. I don't know what I should do, what I should feel. I have no outlet expect you Diary, to even record my thoughts on the matter. I've always found the concept of writing down memories and emotions on paper, for private use or not, was a silly, useless practice, though now I'm not so sure. I suppose when one has people who they trust, who support them in their hopes, dreams and trails, that forever documenting those things would be a bit redundant. I understand now why people do it, when they don't have connections they trust. I only hope that this will be enough to keep my sanity intact, though it is an interesting thought at losing one's mind. If I did, I probably wouldn't care about being pregnant or trapped in a life I do not want, I would happily be daydreaming inside my own memories._

 _Perplexed musing of your friend,_

 _Hermione._

Hermione recorded her immediate feelings in her diary, only pausing in writing when she realized her tears were dripping onto the page and making the ink smear. Closing the leather-bound journal, she placed it on the shelf she kept it hidden and curled into a ball in her chair by the fire, silently letting herself cry freely.


	10. Who do you become sell your soul?

**A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews. Special shoutout to my beta Vino Amore.**

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Who Do You Become When You Sell Your Soul?

One step forward, three steps back. That was how Rabastan chose to describe his relationship with his young wife at that moment. Sitting in his comfortably masculine decorated study, his face turned towards the crackling and blazing fireplace, he blatantly ignored the stack of paperwork accumulating on the desk. Sipping slowly from the glass containing two fingers of whiskey he sighed deeply. For every small progress, they made on understanding one another, something happened and it was back to square one of her hating him and his trying to figure out how to change that.

Dinner was a disaster, he realized. Everything was going along smoothly and he finally had his little wife somewhat relaxed around him after their pleasant afternoon together. The conversation between them was more civil, more easygoing, but that was before Rodolphus had staggered in drunk of his arse, and began insulting Hermione. It was apparent there was no love lost between them. Rabastan tried to evaluate his brother's and his wife mutual loathing for each other. For Hermione, his brother was one of the men she had fought against in the war, whose own wife had tortured her, who made every possible attempt to kill her. To his brother, Hermione was a mudblood, and one who challenged his power and capabilities, eluded his attempts to kill her and had a hand in killing his bitch of a wife. No, Rodolphus didn't love Bella. Despised would be a more accurate word. However, Lestrange men, did honor the vows they made in marriage, and it was his duty to protect and cherish his wife, and he had made every attempt of doing so. Rabastan held a great deal of respect for Dolph on that, because if it had been him married to that insane witch, he would have killed her. Also, Rodolphus resented Hermione for killing Bella because it meant he lost his position as head of house for refusing to remarry.

Rabastan understood where they both stood. He didn't blame either for their feelings would even go so far as to say he was proud of Hermione for her caution of his brother. He respected the fact that apart from the insulting remarks and threating innuendos, his brother had not acted physically against his wife in any way. Rodolphus wasn't one to hold back from cursing someone who annoyed him, and yet, Hermione was left unscathed. The emotionally draining fact was that they behaved like children, and he had to be the one to constantly mediate between their endless bickering.

Rabastan sick and tired of the animosity between them had lost all patience at dinner, he pulled out his card of being the head of house and played it. He may have won that round but he had sacrificed the progress he had been making. His brother was even more pissed at him, and he couldn't anticipate how the other wizard would act out next. Hermione was reminded of her place in this house, which was his worst mistake of all. He made it appear that she had to obey him, and while she was the picture of a docile wife for the rest of dinner, Rabastan saw right through her thinly disguised fury. He sighed and took a long sip from his drink. One step forward, three steps back. That was all there was to it.

Hermione still couldn't believe what happened at dinner. Sure, she had written down her feelings, but she still battled internally with herself to see reason. Everything changed so suddenly from being nice, dare she say comfortable even, to being tense and quiet. Hermione despised her husband's brother, more so than she did any other deatheater, Dolohov included. She didn't know why exactly, Dolohov has cursed her and nearly killed her and made a sport out of trying to curse her again at the final battle. But Rodolphus, he was worse somehow, he had not only tried to kill her but had looked at the scars his wife had left on her and laughed, and he had taken joy in knowing how much she suffered by Bellatrix's hands. She would openly admit that Rodolphus brought out a side of her that was childish and immature, because she was blinded by her loathing of him. However, Rabastan had put her in her place so firmly that she felt like she was being scolded as though she were a child rather than his wife, and that was not okay. This was her life to, did he really expect her to sit idly by and ignore things when they upset her? Did he want her to pretend to be oblivious to the fact she was being insulted?

She was furious. Honestly, Rodolphus showed up pissed as can be. He instigated the argument because there was trouble from the moment he walked through the door. Yet, she was the one Rabastan chastised. It wasn't fair. She hated this life, but she couldn't bring herself to think of the alternatives. Those being one of two possible scenarios. One a world where the order had won, and her friends were alive, which was just too painful to envision because it was no longer a possibility. The other, was the rotting existence where she wasted away in a cold, dark, and hellish cell. That terrified Hermione, more because she knew that if she stepped one toe out of line she would end up right back there. Instead, Hermione concentrated on what her husband would be like if Voldemort had never existed.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _Yes, I know I just wrote to you earlier, but I've had another thought. My afternoon spent with Rabastan, it showed me that he has a soft side, a kind nature buried beneath his surface as a ruthless killer. But I wonder how he became the way he was. Why would he freely choose to serve that lunatic he calls a lord? Why would he commit crimes and serve time in Azkaban for so long, voluntarily? If he had been raised in a loving family, I can't imagine that he would have. If I have learned nothing else from my time in the Wizarding World, it is that where most muggles come from families full of love and support, that most pureblood families do not._

 _This business between the two Lestrange brothers, it must go deeper than Rodolphus resenting Rabastan simply for usurping his title. Oh, I have no doubt that there is resentment there for that, and I can't fault him for it, but their relationship is so harsh that it has to be more than that. It may be something that goes back to the roots of their childhood. What was Rabastan even like in his formative years? Was he always so prone to brooding, or was he happy once upon a time? I don't think that his childhood was very good, and I pity him that. I was immersed in love and kindness and happiness with my parents, something I miss now that they are gone. I fear that Rabastan was at best neglected as a child and at worse that he was abused. Those circumstances don't really bode well for him growing up to be an upstanding citizen Hell, even in the muggle world, children from broken families have less chances for success in their life, and here he is, in league with a monster, scarred from his time in service, and fighting off insanity from the years he was locked away._

 _I envision a happy and innocent Rabastan, growing up with a family who loved him and I try to picture who he could be today. Not even I can look beyond his past far enough to be successful. I wish I could know what he was like even before he sold his soul. If I can't know him as someone who was loved as a boy, at the very least I could understand who he was before he was marked, because it has to be better than now. Who did he become when he sold his soul? More importantly, what will I become when I sell mine? I seem glimpses of what could have been when it's just us two, but the fragments are too few and far between. I don't want to lose myself the way he has. The very real possibility that I may terrifies me._

 _Yours,_

 _Hermione_

Setting down the diary Hermione continued her reflections silently. Rabastan was sarcastic, clever, intelligent, sneaky, and ambitious. These were all traits that, in a perfect world, would be admirable. He was well-spoken, well-traveled, made informed decisions, and was good at getting his way. He was charming. He was also broody, repressive, introverted and quick to temper, which turned his attributes darker than they otherwise may have been. Physically, he was fit, tall, handsome, and muscular, though his scars, showed the shadows of the past that shaped him. Hermione wished with all her heart that he wasn't so caught up in the darkness, because she felt that his personality would be so much brighter without it. Alas, he was who he was.

She was still fuming when she went to the library. Books always made her feel better, and she was determined not to hide away in her room. She brought one of the books she had in her room with her and made herself comfortable in one of the large, black leather chairs before the lively and bright fireplace.

Rabastan saw Hermione pass the study in the mirror that hung on the mantle above the fireplace. He sighed, and took another sip of the strong alcohol. He was glad his wife wasn't holing herself up in her room, but he wasn't ready to face her yet. He assumed she was going to the library. He was avoiding it because he knew it was her safe-haven, but it was a room he frequented himself. Avoiding going in there, he poured himself another tumbler of whiskey. He drank it slowly, savoring the burning sensation it left in his throat as he swallowed the smooth liquid. He heard the portrait of his father muttering something about not being suitable for the position and having disgraced the family. Rabastan ignored his father, knowing that he wouldn't dare speak louder than the whispers he did now. For all its bitching, the carbon copy of his father knew that Rabastan's threat to burn the canvas was not a bluff. He wouldn't risk enraging Rabastan to the point where he did set fire to the painting.

When Rabastan's glass was empty, he set it on the coaster gently. He recalled the reason behind why he always used a coaster for drinks now. When he was seven he once set a cup of pumpkin juice on his father's desk where he was quietly reading a book. He forgot it when he was distracted by something that called him away from the study, and the condensation from the glass left a sticky rim that stained the polished, oak desk. It was a mistake he never made again after the severe lashing his father gave him for it. He looked now at the circular stain that never was removed and thought bitterly that if his father really cared about the furnishing he would have used scourgify on the stain. Yet there is was, proof that his father never needed a reason to punish him. Rabastan scowled at the memory and stood from the chair, determined to not dreg up his past, even if that meant seeking out his wife.

When he arrived in the massive room that shelved thousands of books and smelled like parchment and ink, he found that Hermione was sleeping. Her feet were tucked up in the chair, bare feet peeking out from the bottom of her pajamas. A book lay open on her lap, and her head was titled into the side of the chair. She looked comfortable enough, but it wasn't any position to sleep in. He smiled softly at the sight she made, comfortable in the library. Quietly he crossed the room, and slowly pulled the book out of her grasp, marking the page before closing it and setting it on the table. Then he gently scooped her up into his arms.

She stirred as he did, not waking, to wrap her arms around his neck. Rabastan felt a tug on his heartstrings at the unconscious movement. In her sleep, she burrowed close to him for warmth. While awake, she fought against the proximity. He closed his eyes and hoped that one day soon, they wouldn't be at odds. Adjusting his hold on her to accommodate her new position, he walked out of the library to her room. He laid her on the bed and planted a kiss to her forehead.

Hermione stirred again, this time waking slightly, but he didn't notice. He just brushed her hair out of her face and pulled the covers over her, tucking her into bed.

"I'm sorry." He whispered the apology, "I'm sorry my love. I'll do better." He confessed to the witch he thought was sleeping, all the while not seeing that her eyes had opened. Kissing her forehead once again softly, Rabastan left the room, leaving a very confused Hermione in his wake.

Hermione stared at the closed door that Rabastan had just passed through for a long while. She was taken aback by his tenderness, he had not only been gentle and concerned about her comfort, but he had also displayed a sweetness she had not expected from him. It wasn't a side that he showed. If she was honest, she did see that he cared, that he wanted her happy and all that. Rabastan may care, but he didn't make a habit of exhibiting it.

She felt a pang of sorrow knowing now that he couldn't show his softer side when she was awake but that it was like a second nature to him when he thought she was sleeping. She smiled sadly at the realization that he probably thought doing so was showing weakness. In that moment, Hermione was determined to show him that his softer side was not bad. Her husband, may have sold his soul, but she was going to get it back come hell or high water. A confession to do better made in the darkness showed Hermione that she wasn't the only one suffering here. She may be the one who fought for the light and lost in the war, but the people around her were lost soldiers wandering and trying to find themselves. She wasn't going to let them suffer in silence.


	11. Is it Too Late to Apologize?

**A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and comments. They mean so much. Thank you Vino Amore for the beta read. Please enjoy Chapter 11.**

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Is it Too Late to Apologize?

Hermione found it difficult to sleep that night, after Rabastan's confusing revelation when he put her to bed. She spent hours overthinking what he meant by his statement to do better and his tender care for her. What did he mean by the remark? What was he intending to do? Why was he so uncomfortable to share this side of him? The questions in her mind filled the night with her thoughts instead of the sleep she desperately needed and craved for. When she woke, it was still early and it was with the sudden urge to run to the restroom and empty the contents of her stomach. Morning sickness. Wonderful.

She groaned when she was through vomiting and she leaned against the edge of the sink as she flushed the toilet. Notty appeared a moment later and instantly began barking orders when she took note of Hermione's green complexion.

"Bed, bed, bed. Back to bed Missus," Notty ordered and ushered Hermione to the great bed. "Notty will bring you something to help."

Hermione, now awake, was loath to return to bed, when she knew sleep was futile, but did as the elf commanded and realized that it actually felt nice to lay in the comfort of blankets and not move around. She was miserable with the waves of nausea, turning around in her gut like the ocean tides, wreaking havoc in her stomach cavity. The littlest thing caused her to dash madly for the bathroom and spew the evidence of her sickness into the wash basin. In keeping with her usual research standards, Hermione had naturally read up on the subject of morning sickness, realizing that the title was a misnomer. Morning sickness was not limited to the early hours of the day, instead could occur all day long. It was true that in some cases it was worse for women in the morning and would improve throughout the rest of the day, but it wasn't a fact. Hermione didn't know which scenario she would have, but she hoped it wasn't an all-day event. Morning sickness usually occurred in the first trimester of pregnancy, in some witches it didn't occur at all, but she was aware she wasn't so lucky. The truth was she had always hated being sick, there was nothing more revolting to her than vomiting and this baby seemed to think it was funny to make her do so. This really sucked. She pulled the covers around her for more warmth and comfort and sat propped up by a cluster of pillows considering that the sensation was much greater if she laid on her side.

Hermione had just settled into and made herself comfortable when Notty returned. The elf carried a tray laden with a slice of plain sourdough bread, a bowl of assorted fruit slices and some oatmeal kept warm by a stasis charm. There was also a small amount of tea, decaffeinated of course, but bless the little elf for knowing exactly what Hermione longed for. Hermione ate the bread first, knowing that the carbohydrates and dryness would decrease the churning in her tummy. When it was gone and she was satisfied that she could absorb other food groups without upsetting her stomach more, Hermione finally took a gulp of her tea. She nibbled on the fruit mixing some of the berries into the plain, unflavored oatmeal to make it more appetizing before she consumed that as well. She was just setting her spoon down in the empty ceramic dish when the door connecting her room to Rabastan's opened and he poked his head in.

"Are you well, Madame?" He asked her. Notty had disappeared after leaving the tray by her bed and, Hermione assumed, informed him of Hermione's current state of health. Hermione was far from overjoyed to see him, but receptive to the notion that he was genuinely concerned for her. She remained outwardly civil towards him.

"I am feeling better now. It's morning sickness, nothing to worry yourself over Rabastan." Hermione replied. "Notty however, has put me back in bed."

"Good for Notty. You should rest. You fell asleep in the library last night." Rabastan informed. Hermione momentarily considered telling him she knew, that she had heard what he said to her. She decided that while it would be temporarily satisfying to make him uncomfortable, that it would ultimately cause too much awkwardness between them. He had obviously thought she was asleep when he spoke the words and wasn't ready for her to know. She bit the inside of her cheek and held her tongue.

"Oh?" She questioned instead. "I wasn't aware, did you carry me back here then?" Rabastan flushed slightly before he recovered himself and nodded slowly in the affirmative.

"I did. I was coming to talk to you last night but found you in the most uncomfortable looking position."

"Well, thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"I feel I owe you an apology. I snapped at you at dinner and it was unnecessary." Rabastan said. "I'm sorry."

Hermione was suddenly conscious to the realization that her husband's gentle affection the previous night was in part a reparation. She wasn't clear on the best way to interpret his full-fledged apology. She comprehended he was sincere in wanting to make this relationship, if you could call it that, work. He probably meant it when he said he would do better, as far as she was concerned he was a day late and a galleon short. She wasn't about to back down just because he was being contrite.

"Well," she said eventually, "I appreciate the apology Rabastan, however, I don't think I'm ready to forgive you just yet. I feel that I have the right to point out that somebody's public drunkenness makes me uncomfortable when I live in the same house, and I was chastised for doing so."

Rabastan flinched. He realized he had fucked up. He didn't expect to be let off the hook just like that, but he didn't know what else to do. Rabastan was raised to believe that witches desired one thing above all else, material goods. He grew up surrounded by a gaggle of women who were vicious in getting these things from him and every other wizard he knew. How many times had he seen his father, brother and friends pull out expensive gifts to reward their mistresses or placate their wives? How many times had it worked? The witches often took their shiny baubles and were content for the moment, any offense forgiven. He was tempted to go back to this strategy now, but knew deep down it wouldn't have the effect he wanted.

"What do you want me to say, or do?" Rabastan instead groaned out with morose. He was frustrated with this, with her. He wanted her to be happy, realized he upset her and had no clue how to tie things over.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed heavily. "Right now, I just want some space." She decided.

Sensing the finality of her statement, Rabastan was fully aware there was not going to be any resolution right away. He nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "But please call for me if you need anything." He rose reluctantly from where he had sat on the edge of her bed and retreated through the adjoining door shutting it firmly behind him.

There were no words Rabastan had to describe how he felt as he faced the closed door to his wife's room. A surge of panic crept into his skin, agitating his normally calm reserve and causing him to pace the length of his own bedroom. What if she never forgave him? What if they couldn't ever move past their differences? Had he been too hasty in choosing her to be his bride and by consequence doom himself to a lifetime of isolation? He had to be faithful to her, the vows made sure of it. Monogamy was an odd concept to him as he had been a rake before he married Hermione, not carrying where he got it or from whom. Now, he would never be able to touch another witch intimately, at least not if he didn't want to be crippled by pain. If Hermione never moved past this he would be fated to nothing more than self-pleasure, always a temporary fix and never sating. He almost cried at the thought. He berated himself for acting like a horny teen and stood straighter, ceasing his mindless wandering and decided that he would find a way to fix this.

Determined to make amends he contemplated how to best win Hermione over, for good this time. He was sick of waiting for her. It may have only been mere days since the bonding, but Rabastan had waited years for the witch, and it was grating on his last nerve. He wouldn't force himself on her, but he was bloody well going to make her love him. He had played the ace he had up his sleeve already and could have kicked himself for so quickly returning her wand to her. It sure would have come in handy right now.

Rabastan hadn't slept the night before, dark circles were already forming under his eyes. He carried his witch to her bed and tucked her in, but couldn't sleep himself, attempting to figure out how to make good on his secret promise to her. He was going to do better, acknowledging that he was making a blasted mess of the arrangement up until now. When Notty had apparated in and explained that Hermione was sick he was overcome by worry. He logically knew it was symptoms of the pregnancy, but it still ate at him to know she was suffering. He cared for her, he couldn't deny it any longer. She was more to him than a captive he married, more than a witch he lusted after, more than a plaything. She was to him what nobody had ever been, his everything, and he was her worst nightmare. He had rushed to see if she was okay, and found that the witch wasn't receptive to him.

Relived that she was doing okay, and in bed where she belonged, he had taken the opportunity to show he was sorry. Hermione looked at him like he had grown two heads. Words themselves were not enough to patch this up. However, neither were gifts, so the wizard was at a loss as to what he could do. Gestures were always good he thought. If he could show her that he did mean what he said to her and that he was trying, then she may come over. But how could he do that? Suddenly an idea struck him and he curved his lips into a shit-eating grin.

The morning shifted into late afternoon, and Hermione had spent it all in bed. She had recorded an entry in her diary, putting onto parchment her confusion at Rabastan's confession. She wrote down her displeasure about morning sickness and she spoke of once again, the overwhelming stress she endured. After her latest entry she lost herself in the pages of her old friend, Hogwarts, A History.

Feeling much better, not to mention giddy, that she no longer was under the effects of the nausea, she was adamant that she would leave the bedroom and do something useful. Notty, on the other hand wouldn't hear of it.

"Missus, you must stay put. Yous needs to rest!" the creature was shouting at her.

"Notty, enough," Hermione sighed, hating to argue with the sweet elf, but not enough to listen. "I will be getting out of this bed, and I will be going downstairs for tea, and I will not take no for an answer." She refuted.

"Fine, I'll tells master!" Notty said in outrage and popped out of the room before Hermione could object. Not wanting to wait long enough for Rabastan to stop her, she quickly transfigured her gown and stomped out of the room.

However, her pounding footsteps echoed alone the narrow corridor and betrayed her location. She was about two yards away from reaching the stairs when a crack of apparation sounded behind her and two masculine arms reached out and pulled her against a body. She was enveloped by Rabastan's scent and didn't fight against his hold.

"Where are you running off to Ma Cherie?" he chuckled the question and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. What had gotten into him, Hermione wondered. He wasn't supposed to be kissing her in any way shape or form. She rolled her eyes.

"I will not stay in that blasted bed a second longer!" She spat.

"Okay," he allowed. "You still didn't answer my question."

"I'm going downstairs for tea," she said haughtily

"Good. Because you have company downstairs for just that very thing."

Hermione rose her eyebrow incredulously before she asked, "company?"

"It's a surprise," her husband said and left it at that, offering her arm and escorting her to the tea room.


	12. What Has the Biggest Impact?

**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews. VinoAmore is my awesome beta, and I appreciate her hard work.**

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What had the biggest impact?

Rabastan knew that the guests who awaited his wife in the tea room would have an impact on her, and he could only hope it was a good one. She saw him as a monster, and if he was honest he was, he still did horribly atrocious acts to innocent and unsuspecting people every single day. He was a deatheater, had pledged to follow the dark lord for the rest of his life when he was only fifteen, and since then lived up to that promise.

He didn't enjoy it, the killing, torturing, unspeakable cruelty. Well, not anymore at any rate, though he wasn't sure if he ever did. He just got swept up in the moment alongside his brethren, but unlike most of them he wasn't bloodthirsty and power hungry who felt compelled to display their might over their victims. Hermione of course, wouldn't see beyond the mark on his forearm. Not that he blamed her, considering the way the others behaved, to his wife anyone who bore the mark was bad.

His surprise for her was a first step in a peace offering, and while he hoped she would come to appreciate it in time, he was quite certain that she would be enraged at first, which is why he decided not to tell her how he came to acquire their new houseguests. The Weasley and Lovegood girls were both under the custody of Amycus Carrow up until Rabastan manipulated Carrow into betting them in a game of cards. A game for which Rabastan knew he had the winning hand…

Now, they were both under his protection, but the year they spent with Carrow had taken its toll on them. So instead of giving his wife fair warning, He quickly and animatedly led her to the tearoom to show her his new gift.

Hermione detested Surprises, literally hated them. She had once been frightened from behind at a surprise party when she was small, so ever since she associated surprises with bad events. However, she looked at how enthusiastic Rabastan was about the whole thing and just didn't have the heart to tell him. Her husband was clearly doing his best to show her that he was sorry, trying to make amends over just telling her the words that didn't mean much. She assumed that his surprise guest was Narcissa, or somebody like that, and while she had no desire for company, she pretended to be curious and followed him to the doors to the tearoom.

Swinging the door open gently but widely, the room revealed the figures of two people Hermione thought she would never see again. They looked worse for wear, and in the case of the redheaded witch, envious and angry. But that was Ginny, strong, fiery Ginny who always had an opinion about everything and who had also lost everything she cared for. Next to her was Luna, who still presented the dreamlike state that was her personality but now looked as though she had seen too much to ever go back. They were both bruised and broken, wearing torn, tattered clothing, and looking as though they hadn't washed in some time.

Hermione froze in the doorway, moving her eyes from her friends to look at her husband with confusion and perhaps a little suspicion. He gave her an expression that told her he would explain later. Hermione nodded and without further hesitation, rushed towards her two friends and there her arms over them in an embrace. Rabastan left the room quietly, closing the door, knowing that the women would prefer the solitude.

"Ginny, Luna…" Hermione whispered. Luna returned the hug, but Ginny pulled away and shot an angry glare at Hermione.

"Looks like you've done well for yourself," The redheaded witch spat out vindictively.

"Me, Ginny I don't…" Hermione was cut off my more expletives coming from her friend.

"Bloody hell you don't know. Here you are, right as rain, one of them now, how easily you turn coat." The sneer on Ginny's face was prominent at hateful, giving away her contempt for Hermione.

Now, Hermione was insulted by the accusation. "Wait a minute, you have no clue what my life has been like…"

"No idea what your life has been like?" Ginny interrupted once more. "Looks like you've been prancing about playing the pretty pureblood while Luna and I suffered at the hands of the Carrows! Ironically enough, I am a the pureblood here, not you."

"Enough!" Luna exclaimed. "Ginny, she's right, we don't know what she has gone through. Give her a chance to explain. The Nargles are telling me that things aren't as they appear here." Hermione had never been more thankful for the Nargles.

"I spent a year freezing and starving alone in Azkaban. I would have lost my mind, if the nearly daily rapes didn't keep me fighting to think of ways to get back at them. Then I'm taken from that hell and told I either marry Rabastan Lestrange, Lestrange mind you, or I could go back and rot in prison," Hermione explained.

"Oh Hermione…" Ginny began, however, Hermione wasn't finished with her speech.

"Oh but that's not all. No, once I decide to save myself from that place, I am told that I'm now a pureblood and that my entire upbringing and life has been erased by one doctrine. I'm married off, I'm forced to consummate the bond and I'm already pregnant with my husband's heir. So, go ahead, keep right on with thinking that this has all been peachy keen for me!" Hermione exclaimed the end of her speech and with one last angry glare at her so call friend, turned on her heel. She ran from the room, fleeing back upstairs and to the library.

Naturally, Rabastan was in his study when he heard her pounding feet, and the door slam closed, so he sighed and rubbed his head before getting up. He walked into the library and while he could tell by the loud bang that sounded when she entered that Hermione was upset, he was not prepared to see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Very cautiously he closed in on her and muttered "Hermione?" The witch didn't answer him, but she did catapult herself into his arms, and sobbed into his shirt. Instinctively Rabastan wrapped his arms around Hermione, holding her. "Shhhh, now, what happened?"

Rabastan had thought that giving Hermione her friends would be a good thing, not end up with her crying all over him. He wasn't about to complain, when he had his witch in his embrace, but it wasn't quite the scenario he had pictured when he brought the two other witches here. It took Hermione some time, but she finally calmed down enough to reply.

"Why did you bring them here?" She asked, not accusatory, but with a tone full of hurt.

"I thought it would make you happy? Why did it make you cry?"

"I, I got upset, Ginny she's always been strongly opinionated, and she didn't hold back what her opinion of me was."

"Should I send them away?" Rabastan asked.

"Back to Carrow?" Hermione countered? He grimaced.

"No, just away? I wouldn't ever send someone back to Carrow."

"Good. No," Hermione sighed. "Don't send them away. I think that if we can all calmly talk we can be okay again. It will be nice to have my friends around. Thank you, for bringing them here."

He rubbed her back, "Your welcome." Hermione suddenly seemed to realize that she was in his arms and pulled away.

"You really do want this to work don't you?" She inquired.

"I do." He replied solemnly.

"Okay then," she said, "I suppose I do as well, I don't want to feel like a prisoner anymore, no matter if it's true or not." Rabastan, wisely, did not comment about her prisoner remark. He was offended every time she called herself a prisoner because by Merlin, he had done everything he could to free her. Though if he really paused to consider, he could understand why she saw him as the warden holding the keys, as he had given her no alternative, no chance at escaping her situation. His ultimatum had been for her to marry him or go back to the icebox. She wanted neither, but she was sensible and choose the option that provided more comfort and more freedoms.

Rabastan sighed and moved away beginning to head back towards his study. Salazar, he needed a drink. However, Hermione's hand snaked around his hand and stopped his in his tracks. He turned back towards her, a bewildered look crossing his features.

"Would you sit with me a couple more minutes?" She requested. Rabastan immediately lowered himself into one of the cushions on the couch, and was even more surprised when Hermione sat next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand still in his. "Could we send one of the elves to help Ginny and Luna get cleaned up, clothed and fed? They look as though they are half-starved."

"I suppose that they are." Rabastan remarked. "Yes, ma cherie. I'll send Zippy to do so now."

"When you said we had company I assumed you had fetched Narcissa or someone." Hermione confessed. 'I never expected to ever see either Luna or Ginny again."

"I wanted to surprise you. Believe it or not, while I think Narcissa will be a very good influence for you, and I do expect you to entertain her on occasion, I do care that these are not people you connect with. That I am not someone you connect with."

"I want to." Hermione replied, "I won't ever be what you want me to be, not fully, but I do want to be happy with you. I'm not trying to run away."

Her words meant more to him than Rabastan would ever admit. No, she wasn't running away, though he didn't doubt that if an opportunity for escape presented itself that she wouldn't seize it. He kissed the top of her head.

"Are you feeling up to dinner in the dining room tonight? Or would you prefer to eat with your friends?"

"I'll come down for dinner, I don't want to see them again tonight. It's been a weird day, and I would rather just deal with them tomorrow."

"Then you shall. I will ensure they are well cared for tonight but you will not have to see them."

"Thank you Rabastan. I'll go and get changed." Hermione planted a tender kiss to his cheek before she left the room. For a long moment, Rabastan held his hand his cheek, on the spot her lips caressed. For all the ups and downs this day had brought, this was not one he would regret.


	13. How Much Does the Small Stuff Matter?

**A/N: I know right, two updates in one week? Well don't get used too used to it. I happened to send two chapters over to my amazing beta VinoAmore last weekend as they flow and relate to each other, and since they were both done I'm giving my awesome readers a treat. However, it will be a little bit before the next chapter is posted, at least a few weeks while I write the next couple of them. Never fear I'm not giving up on the story! As always, Thank you to all of you who review, favorite, follow or just read, it means the world.**

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How Much Does the Small Stuff Matter?

Before dinner, Hermione went to her trusted friend to pour out the pain she had over Ginny's unwarranted accusation.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I hate surprises. I really do. Rabastan tried – no did surprise me- with what should have been a sweet gesture. It was kind on his part although not such a great experience for me. He collected my friends and brought them here, thinking it would please me. It would have, if it wasn't full of hateful glares and comments about my life. Ginny seems to think I have the good life. I suppose considering she and Luna were subject to endless torture and humiliation as well as enslavement at the hands of another deatheater, I do have it easy. But Azkaban was no walk in the park, and can I really be blamed for trying to make the best out of bad situation. I did not ask for any of this, but I'm sure glad I'm not wasting away in a damp, dark 10 feet square cell. I would think that we should just be happy to see each other to be reunited and not dwell on the technicalities. Honestly, how important is the small stuff anyway?_

Hermione closed the diary, locked it away and made her way down to the dining room to meet Rabastan.

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Dressed in a coral colored lace dress, with ruffled hems, Hermione entered the dining room. Surprise registered when she noticed it was empty. Rabastan wasn't yet downstairs, and the elves hadn't set the table. It was weird, because he was usually there to greet her, and the quiet emptiness of the space was eerie. Hermione shrugged off the chill creeping up her spine and called for Notty as she made her way down the length of the table and to her chair.

"Yes Mistress?" Notty inquired as she appeared in the dining room.

"Could you please see to it that the other elves set the dining room for dinner?" Hermione relayed her request to the tiny elf. Notty in turn looked at her with a perplexed expression.

"I can't mistress. We have been instructed not to set the dining room table tonight," The elf said wringing her hands nervously. Probably because this was the first time that Notty was relaying information that would not be necessarily received well by her mistress.

"Notty," Hermione held back the annoyed sigh. "I just spoke with him not an hour ago, and we agreed on eating together."

"Notty is sorry mistress, but there is no dinner here. Dinner is in Library."

"The Library?" Hermione questioned. However, Notty refused to budge an inch, and merely nodded her agreement, before disapparting with a pop. Now, Hermione did sigh. But she turned and ambled back up the stairs to the Library as the creature had all but insisted she did. She knew Notty was purposefully avoiding answering any questions she had about dinner, as Hermione recognized the signs of playing coy.

Reaching the tall, polished oak doors that lead to the library, Hermione sighed and pushed open the door, her sigh turned to a gasp when she did. The scene she had been expecting to find was not what was before her. The usual furnishings of leather chairs and stands had been pushed to the sides of the room. In the center there was a table and two chairs, lit candles and soft music played in the background. Rabastan stood as she appeared and pulled out her chair as she approached.

"Good evening, Ma Cherie," He whispered, flashing a brilliant, genuine smile and he pushed her seat closer to the edge of the table.

"Rabastan!" Hermione exclaimed in amazement, gesturing around them. "What is all this?"

"This my dear, is a quiet, romantic, dinner in your favorite place," he explained and was immediately rewarded as her befuddled expression gave way to her dazzling beam that reached her tear filled eyes. It warmed him.

"I thought we would be eating downstairs, I had no idea you were planning all this."

"That is the point of a surprise," he chuckled.

"Yes, but why?"

"You had a bad day Ma Cherie, and I thought you deserved something special to make it a little better. "

"I, uh, thank you." She smiled.

He lifted the silver lid from her tray and vanished it. The meal before her was a steak with mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus which both looked and smelled heavenly. Repeating the motion with his own tray, they dug into the meal.

She liked this side of him. The parts where he was sweet and thoughtful. He could be a right moody brood most of the time, and very capable of reminding her that he was her husband, captor adversary all rolled into one man-sized package. It was that gray area she despised. If he was always a mean-spirited menace she could go right on seining him her enemy and hating him. If he was always charming and warm it would be only too easy to fall for him and set their past aside. However, he was a perfect blend of black and white, the balanced shade of gray, and she never knew what to expect from him.

Hermione didn't want to hate Rabastan, especially because he showed his sweet nature. He saved her miserable existence in Azkaban, returned her wand, provided a life for her and given her back her friends, or at least tried. But he also obeyed the man who killed her and by default had gotten her pregnant when she hadn't wanted anything to do with him. The borderline between love and hate was so narrow she felt as though she was on a tightrope high in the air, struggling to stay upright, not knowing which side she would go toppling down.

Sensing that his wife was lost in her thoughts, Rabastan initiated a conversation.

"What was it that upset you when you were with your friends, Ma Cherie?"

Hermione sighed. "The thing is, Ginny has always been temperamental with strong opinions. She is under the impression that while she and Luna were nothing more than mistreated slaves for Carrow, that I have been living the good life. She made it abundantly clear her stance on that idea."

Rabastan clenched his fists as his side and grunted his displeasure. No wonder his little wife had run up here sobbing her eyes out. Her friends, the people who were supposed to care about her accused her of turning her back. Rabastan would be the first to acknowledge that his wife was not the perfect mold of the pureblood he made her. She was fiercely loyal and she would not relinquish her memories or her beliefs, even if she only gritted her teeth and didn't speak about them. He was offended for her, even though he couldn't show her that.

His job was to make her loyalties change, to make her loyal to him and by consequence his master. He knew deep down that she would never be loyal to his lord, but he had to put in the effort to try and make her convert. If he didn't she would be taken away from him and thrown back in her cell, or worse. One thing that he knew for certain, now that he had Hermione there was no way he was letting her go.

"Is that so? And how did you reply?"

"I informed them of how and where I spent my last year on this earth. Then I fled."

"You are sure you don't want me to send them away?"

"No, no. I want them here to at least try and make amends. It's completely possible I've lost them forever, but until I know for certain they are our guests," Hermione decided.

"As you wish." He replied tersely.

"Rabastan?" Hermione asked tentatively a moment later?

"Hmmmm," he hummed

"Would you stay with me tonight?" Her sudden question had him glancing up at her in shock. Hermione quickly amended her statement, "I mean, I'm not ready to… but I thought maybe we could talk and I just don't really want to be alone."

"Of course, Ma Cherie. I will stay with you." Rabastan replied. Inwardly he smirked, this had indeed been a day he would never forget, with tremendous progress made on swaying his bride.

* * *

Candles blown out, plates vanished and the library looking itself once more the couple retreated for Hermione's chambers, where they talked for ages. The pregnancy was the hot topic, each trying to gauge the other's predisposition for parenting styles. They surprised themselves by agreeing on most points. Both wanted more than one child, but not right away. Neither wanted to be overly strict and overbearing, but they didn't want their children to be spoiled either. To Hermione's dismay, Rabastan mentioned that his son would be raised in his image and serve in the dark lord's regime. She wouldn't agree on this with him, though she did stay silent on the matter.

Hermione envisioned her children happy, carefree and running around with other kids, no matter their blood status or allegiance. But that was a perfect world, and one she didn't live in now. Hermione chided herself for her childish hopes because she knew she was trapped with a man who no matter how charming was a deatheater. Her world would always have a black cloud hanging above her, until she found a way to escape her prisoners or destroy Voldemort. She vowed she would succeed in one or the other one day.

"I wish I would have known you before your service to him darkened you," Hermione commented in response to her husband's stance on his children serving the monster as well. He didn't answer back, but she did hear the hitch in his breathing. They were snuggled against each other, her back to his front and his arm draped over her, holding her close to him.

"I don't even remember him," came Rabastan's eventual response, causing her to smile sadly.

"You may not remember him but I see glimpses from time to time, so he is in there somewhere."

"I want my children to hang onto their innocence as long as possible," Rabastan said.

"Yet, you pledge them to follow in your footsteps, serving a maniac," Hermione bit out.

"Hermione," Rabastan clipped in warning before he softened his tone. "I don't have a choice. Either my children serve the dark lord or we are all killed."

"There is always a choice," she said sadly. Their conversation ended there. He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

"My sweet, naïve little wife…" he whispered.


	14. Is Suffering Better in Silence?

**A/N: Thank You Vino Amore for the beta read, and to all of my readers for your support. Enjoy Chapter 14, the next chapter should be up soon.**

Is Suffering Better in Silence?

" _My sweet, little naive wife," he whispered._ Rabastan's breath was warm against her skin with his proximity as he spoke the endearment. "If only it was that easy."

"I'd rather die than serve him," Hermione declared adamantly. There was no hint of bitterness in her tone, the remark was one of simple honesty. However, the powerful statement beneath the surface of her comment caused Rabastan to frown. The wizard's memories were vivid and painful to relive, and his wife's sudden declaration hit too close to home.

 _Flashback_

 _He was ten years old, and free from Rodolphus for a whole year while he was away at Hogwarts. The only person he had to be weary of was his father, who was often not home, and when he was, he simply holed himself up in his study. Rabastan avoided that ward of the house and was usually fine. But that night, the hollering voices drew him from his room, away from his toy wand and towards the hallway by the master bedroom. His father was yelling, and the normally soft spoken, French accented, voice of his mother was raised several octaves._

" _I won't serve that man, Ramsey. I'll die before that day," his mother said with finality in her tone._

" _You will obey me in this Sophie," his father bellowed._

" _I have never obeyed you and I will not start now."_

 _The sound of his father's palm connecting with his mother's face echoed in the room. He couldn't see them, but Rabastan was no stranger to his father's beatings._

" _It's high time you learn your place, I rule this house and all who reside in it. You will obey me."_

" _Beat me all you like husband, I will not change my mind. I will not degrade myself to a lowly servant to grovel at the feet of a half-blooded maniac, and I won't let you expose our sons to him."_

" _Then you will die," his father spat the warning, "he won't be merciful."_

" _So be it," his mother resigned herself. "Death doesn't scare me, but watching you fall into the clutches of a power-hungry fool does. You always have worn blinders when it comes to those you idolize."_

 _The words, Rabastan knew then, were fighting words, meant to inspire anger and hurt. His father never reacted well to people talking back but even he didn't anticipate the reaction his father had after a brief hesitation._

" _Avada Kedavra," a flash of green light a resounding thud of a body hitting the marble floor, and then a hushed whisper. "You were a fool Sophie, at least I made your death painless, as he would not have._

 _End Flashback_

"My father, killed my mother for saying exactly the same thing," Rabastan explained when he returned to the world of the living. "You would have liked my mother, she was a lot like you," he added.

"You father wasn't a good man," Hermione replied.

"No argument there, but he killed her to spare her suffering. If it were merely death that awaited us for defying the dark Lord, I would do it. But it won't be a simple Avada, Hermione, It won't even be the cruciatus, it will be much worse. You haven't seen what he does to followers that betray him, I have. I tell you it's a thousand times worse than anything you can imagine. I won't let that happen to you, I won't watch it happen to my children, and because I don't want it to happen to myself I serve him, and will continue to do so."

When he was finished with his little speech, he felt the tiny droplets of tears on his neck from where Hermione had turned her face. He sighed.

"I hate him," she whispered. He didn't blame her. The dark lord was not one of his favorite people either.

"I know," he replied not courageous enough to voice his thoughts aloud.

"Rabastan?" His precious wife asked after several heartbeats had passed.

"Yes, Ma Cherie?"

"Tell me something good. A happy memory. I want to know you." Rabastan smiled widely and tightened his arm around her, pulling her snuggly against him. It was difficult for him to come up with something to say, and he realized now how corrupted his life became.

"I'll tell you about my mother. She was beautiful, proud, wicked smart and arrogant. You really do remind me of her."

"What was her name?"

"Sophie, Sophie Lestrange nee Selwyn. She was a Ravenclaw and never let my father forget it, very clever and sharp. She didn't miss anything. She used to read to me at night. Rod never appreciated the stories, so she stopped reading to him when he was five, but with me she would tuck me in every night and open a book. She always made the characters come alive, different voices for different people, hand motions and even magic to make the story seem so real." Rabastan cut off shortly and found that Hermione had drifted off to sleep. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple and closed his own eyes. His mother's death was painful for him to relive, the memories of her so buried in him to hide the pain, but with one word Hermione brought them all back. He didn't want to feel the pain associated with them, he blocked them out for so long, but he found that he didn't mind reliving them for Hermione. On that thought, he drifted into unconsciousness himself.

Hermione leisurely awoke to streaming sunlight in her window and a mercifully quiet gut. There was no morning sickness today, she gleefully realized. But her smile fell when she realized that her bed was empty, Rabastan was gone and the sheets were cool to the touch on his side. She reached for her wand on the nightstand.

"Tempes," she whispered and a red glow emitted from her wand formed numbers and depicted the time as quarter to noon. She had never slept in that long in her entire life, and wasn't surprised her husband wasn't next to her any longer.

It amazed her that she cared, that she felt a pang of loneliness to discover his absence, but it had felt so nice to be held last night, and he was incredibly thoughtful and attentive to her yesterday, giving her exactly what she needed. Knowing she had missed breakfast and that lunch was only a short while off, Hermione dressed for the day and decided to write in her diary.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _Last night was, for lack of accurate words, nice. After the confrontation with Ginny and Luna the night took a better turn. He was surprising, having set up a romantic, candle lit dinner in the library of all places, just because he knew the library is my safe haven. He distracted me from my heartache and seemed content to do nothing more than hold me all night. I find that the loss of his arms this morning when I awoke was disheartening and it's strange I should feel so._

 _He confessed something last night, and it troubles me. His father murdered his mother, a woman who clearly brought out the softer side of him. The little glimpses I can see every now and again. His mother, who wanted to defy the dark lord, who refused to serve him and dared to try and save her sons from their fate. I remind him of her, he says. Is it because I also despise the dark lord? Or perhaps because I will do everything to save my own children from serving him? Dare I hope that it be because I bring a little bit more of his light out? I don't know why I remind him of his mother, or what that means, but it is disturbing to me not knowing._

 _I wonder if suffering in silence is better than sharing the hurt with someone else. I can see him hiding behind the darkness, the shelter he has created for himself and the only thing he has known for a long time. I wish he would open up to me, but I fear that if he does I won't be able to see passed his misdeeds and see the fragile and broken fragments of innocence left in his soul. I know that I harbor my own darkness, there are things I have done that have burnt edges of my own soul. If I were to share those would I still remind him of his mother or would I shatter the last hope he may have?_

 _I don't know where we go from here._

 _Hermione_

Hermione closed the leather book and hid it safely away once more. She rose from her seat and made her way to her husband's door poising her fist to knock. However, she didn't need to as before her hand could make contact with the wood, a pounding thud could be heard from the other side. She wretched the door open and revealed her husband, hair still damp from his morning shower, dressed in a suit.

Hermione smiled at him. "Good morning," she greeted,

Rabastan didn't reply right away but leaned in and pecked Hermione on the lips softly. "Good morning ma Cherie. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did indeed. Did you?"

"Better than I have in recent weeks," he stated. "You missed breakfast because of the lay in. I'd like to escort you down for lunch."

"I am a little peckish," Hermione agreed. He offered her his arm and she gladly accepted it and they ambled towards the dining room for midday meal.

"I don't want to shock you when we walk in, but as they are guests it is more than likely that your … friends … are there. I can leave you to talk with them if you wish," Rabastan explained cautiously.

"No!" Hermione explained in agitation. "No, please stay Rabastan. I'd like you to stay."

"Okay, then I will stay, Ma Cherie." Without further preamble he opened the doors wide and walked with her to the Head seats at the long table, where Ginny and Luna did in fact sit near.


	15. How Do You Repair a Broken Friendship?

**A/N: Special thanks to Vinoamore for being my beta on Fragments, and to all of my readers who enjoy the story and offer support.**

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How Do You Repair a Broken Friendship?

Lunch was an event full of awkward silence and ripe with tension. Hermione fidgeted with her fork as she ate. She was too hungry to not eat, but the stares she was receiving from her so called friends was nerve wrecking. Rabastan was not particularly helpful, despite trying to be, as his presence only put the witches on edge. Only Hermione was somewhat at ease with his company, though it was only marginally comforting.

The wizard ate his meal as quickly as possible while still being neat and civilized. When his plate was empty and he was satisfied that despite her agitation Hermione was eating enough to sustain her and the child, he rose from his chair. He leaned down to whisper in his wife's ear.

"I think my being here is only making things worse, Ma Cherie. If you need me for anything I will be in my study, if you are in danger simply touch your pendant and I'll be here in a heartbeat." His kissed her forehead and strode out of the room.

The air around the three witches calmed for a moment, before Hermione's anxiety returned tenfold when she faced the seething glare from Ginny. She knew this look, Ginny usually wore the expression when she was angry and jumping to conclusions. Hermione, although having witnessed the gaze many a time had never been on the receiving end of it. Until now.

She had an idea of what her friend – former friend – was thinking. The accusations that were on the tip of the red-head's tongue, and the inevitable fight threatening to break lose. Luna on the other hand had a calm, spacey and morose demeanor about her. The Blonde seemed to be looking between her two friends and thinking about how to best mediate the situation.

Hermione interjected before either could say anything to her. "He's not evil, you know. He's not good, but he does try. You don't have to understand, or even like it, but I am trying to make the best of my situation. I hope that you both can try to make the best as well, now that you have an opportunity to."

Ginny gaped at her, obviously wanting to disagree but too shocked by Hermione's forward speech to really say anything. Hermione continued.

"I don't expect either or you to support me in this, I've chanced beyond a doubt, and as much as I wish it were not true, I'm not the same person you knew before the final battle. I hope to put our differences aside, but I know it may not be possible. Regardless we will need to speak about the situation and our feelings about it. I don't think that right now is the best time."

"What happened to you, Hermione?" Ginny finally managed in a surprisingly non-hostile tone.

"I lost everything I ever cared about and survived. Death didn't want to take me, and it was either adapt or go insane. Now, if you will please excuse me, I'll leave you to finish your lunch." Hermione said and rose from the table and retreated. She turned at the doorway. "I'll be in the library this afternoon. When you wish to calmly speak to me please come find me."

She accioed her diary when she arrived in the library. Not a moment after the leather bound book was in her hand did she sink into her favorite spot and begin to write.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _It's strange. It's been only a little over a year since I've seen them, and most of the time I longed for nothing more than to be with friends. Now, seeing them here, knowing that they are just as broken as I am, it's a rude awakening. Ginny is much the same, her fiery, quick-tempered self, but I can see that she has lost too much to be the same girl I knew. Luna has always been dazed and spacey, but her dream-like appearance is now haunting, eluding to horrors better left unstated. None of us are the same, and none of us are ready to admit it out loud. It begs the question, is it possible to fix a broken friendship?_

 _Hermione_

Hermione set the book down beside her as she heard timid footsteps approaching. She knew it was Luna before she saw the blonde.

"I don't blame you," the light, almost musical like voice of Luna blurted when she had reached the area where Hermione sat. Hermione was taken aback by the bluntness of such a statement. She wasn't exactly sure what Luna meant by her remark, or in what context it was intended. She knew that she shouldn't be blamed for any of this, but she couldn't help but look at Ginny and feel that she was. Unbidden tears began to form in Hermione's eyes.

"You don't blame me for what?" She eventually asked.

"For trying to make the best of the situation. The Nargles around you are making you see the good versus that bad. He really has been quite hospitable to us as well. I think you could be happy here."

Ah, Nargles, Hermione thought. She didn't believe in Luna's strange creatures existence, however did believe that Luna invented them to explain things that were either too complicated to say outright or simply unexplainable. "I don't know if I'll ever be happy Again, Luna," Hermione whispered. "Right now, I'm just shooting for not miserable."

The two witches were silent for a few minutes, sharing each other's mutual despair for where their lives had gone. Luna broke the quiet with another blunt statement. "She will come around you know."

Hermione didn't need to ask who the she was. "I hope so. It hurts to know that she is angry with me."

"She isn't angry with you, not really. She has a heliopath in her soul, and she doesn't know how to let go of her fear so she masks it with anger. She directs it at you because she can see that you have not been tortured like we have"

"There are more ways to torture than physical or magical," Hermione hissed. "A freezing hell and being repeatedly raped isn't a fantastic way to exist."

"I know. But Ginny can't see past her envy of your life now, she lost her whole family you know, nobody but her survived, and then Harry of course."

"Oh Gods," Hermione groaned, she had not known that. It was devastating to hear.

"And here you are, Married, pregnant, and free to roam around. She feels betrayed," Luna explained.

"I didn't ask for any of this!" Hermione exclaimed wildly.

"I know," the voice issuing the statement was not Luna's and neither witch had heard the redhead approach the doorway. Now they turned to face the witch in question. "I know that it's absurd to blame you, but it's easier to blame you than feel utterly useless."

"I'm sorry Ginny, I'm sorry for what has happened and for whatever part I may have played in it. Godric, we never saw this did we? We never actually thought about what would happen if we lost."

"It's worse than anything we could have imagined," Ginny agreed.

"It's not what I wanted," Hermione contradicted, "but, it's not the worst. I begged each day for insanity even as I did my dandiest to hang on to my mind when I was in Azkaban. Between the cold and the assaults I longed for the ability to not feel, to not be aware or not care anymore. And then he came for me, and while I never would have chosen this life, I am grateful that I'm protected. I hate myself sometimes for feeling that way but I'd take anything compared to that hell. I barley existed, and now I'm finding my way back."

Unbeknownst to the three witches, Rabastan stood silently in the shadows of the hall, eavesdropping on their conversation. At his wife's confession a slow Cheshire grin curled at his lips, he was happy to hear her defending her station. It wasn't perfect but it was a step in the right direction, and he would be right there to coach her. Soon she would be right where he wanted her and the distance between them would be closed. It was only a matter of time.


	16. Why Does Love Have to Hurt so Much?

**A/N: The wait is over! I'm sorry it took so long for the update but here it is now. I've run out of pre-written chapters and haven't yet started on the next but with nanowrimo over I should be able to dedicate so more time to this and other WIP's.**

Why Does Love Have to Hurt So Much?

Luna was the first of the witches to leave, and although Rabastan hiding spot was good, the observant albeit spacey witch could tell he was there. It unsettled the blonde slightly, but all in all the presence didn't feel threatening, so she decided to let it go. Her Gryffindor friends needed to talk, to clear the air and move forward, and she wasn't needed there for that. She quietly, and without a word to the eavesdropping lord of the manor, strolled down the narrow hallway to her room.

"What did they do to you Gin?" Hermione broke the tense silence left behind when Luna departed.

"Unspeakable things," the redhead replied. Hermione thought she wasn't going to elaborate when Ginny sighed and delved in to the honest explanation. "When I was captured, I had already lost half my family, Harry and you. I was devastated, exhausted and so angry I wanted to kill every one of those fuckers. I fought and fought until I was disarmed and then I kicked and scratched and bit. The deatheaters brought me before _him_ , and I expected to die. I was prepared to die, knowing it wouldn't be quick or painless, but that I would soon be at peace. I didn't die though. I was tortured within an inch of my life but then I was healed and handed a much worse fate. There are no words to describe the realization of what my life was about to become when I was awarded to the Carrow's." Hermione closed her eyes as a rush of guilt and sorrow flooded over her at her friend's ordeal. She remained quiet as the explanation continued.

"I thought maybe it would just be enslavement, some horrible torture, and the likes. It wasn't. Every waking hour, of which there were far too many, was spent parading us around naked, groping, beating and raping us. They forced us to do humiliating things, and when we didn't. Well, let's just say that it was torture in both every physical, emotional and mental way possible. It never stopped. If it wasn't a Crucio or beating, then it was perverted games we were forced to endure in order to get a break from the pain."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione cried.

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who is sorry. I unjustly accused you of living free because I was treated horrendously and you were not treated as horrendously. But you were tortured just as much as I in a different way. What was Azkaban like?" Hermione shuddered at the thought of the iron fortress in the sea.

"It was my own level of hell. A frozen wasteland rather than the fire and brimstone so often referred to, a place so dark you can barely see. It's a wet, bone-chilling and isolating prison. I was in a cramped cell day in and day out, permitted only one shower a week. My cell was maybe five feet by five feet, by five feet high. I couldn't move in the cell without hitting something be it the ceiling or the walls. Days were spent trying to force myself to recite things from books, or days of the week, even my own name to keep myself thinking, and aware. At night, well, the guards often told me I was a good girl to just lie back and think of England. He saved me the indignity of one last rape when he came for me you know. The memory is cloudy, but I'm fairly certain he killed the guy trying to force himself on me."

"Merlin," Ginny whispered. "I didn't know."

"I know. But try to understand, my husband isn't like the others. He is capable of the violence and atrocities for sure, but he doesn't do it just because he can. He actually cares about me, about my happiness," Hermione pleaded with the redhead to be open minded.

"You love him," Ginny blurted out suddenly.

"What? No, I'm not sure I'd call it love. I care for him, want him to be safe and survive, but…"

"No Hermione, you love him. It's obvious, really. I knew from the moment I first saw you again you loved him, you have accepted your role as his wife, this place as your home. And the way you talk about him… Hermione you love him."

"But how? I mean I disagree fundamentally with the principles he believes, hate the people he serves alongside, am disgusted by the things he could do. We are enemies in this war."

"Love is blind, you may be on opposite sides of the battle but you are not and will never be enemies. Love is forgiving and keeps no records he may do vile things, but he comes home and he takes care of you, and you want him to. Love is hope, you may not like who he serves, but you hold on to hope that one day he won't, and love is strong, it leads you in to battle for what is right, and it will fight until it wins."

Hermione was silent in the wake of Ginny's speech until both witches began to giggle.

"Godric, that sounds like you just recited a wedding speech."

"It does doesn't it? But it doesn't mean I'm not right."

"No it doesn't," Hermione sighed. "I think you may be right."

"I know," Ginny boasted. Suddenly sobering the younger girl looked at her friend. "I'm glad. I'd like to think that in a perfect world you would be in love with my brother and we would be sisters but this world is far from perfect and Ron is gone, and with all that we have suffered, you deserve to find something good."

"I did love Ron, do love him. I always will Gin. And we are sisters rather by blood or by choice," Hermione said crying.

"You should go to him," she replied. "I'll still be here when you get back."

Hermione smiled her gratitude, tears welling in her eyes once more and she rose from the chair. Embracing the witch quickly before sprinting from the room, Hermione left to see her husband, who she loved apparently. Before she reached his doors she decided it may be prudent to record the newfound awakening in her diary. She walked first to her sitting room and accioed the leather bound book and her quill.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _The morning has been a marvelous development. I have managed to make up with Ginny, to find some common ground with her once more. Her suffering has been immeasurable and underserved and her anger is justified. I listened to what she needed to say, and I was willing to accept blame and resentment if necessary. However, Gin didn't lay blame at my feet this time. She, to my surprise, asked me what I suffered, and she listened when I opened up about Azkaban. By the time we both bared our souls, we understood that neither was left unscathed. We both have scars both physical and mental from this war and after and we are both lost trying to find a way to survive. We finally realized it would be easier to do together than fighting one another._

 _That isn't even the most remarkable incident, though it is indeed significant. In our reconciliation, it was necessary to discuss my marital status and my feelings for Rabastan. I can't deny that there are feelings there, I care for him, I'm grateful for him. I believe he is by far less evil, if at all evil, then his brother and the rest of them. Ginny pointed out, rather bluntly, that I love him._

 _It took me off guard, love isn't a feeling I'm acquainted with. I've felt it for those I've cared for certainly, but after all that has happened, the hurt was too much and I shut it off. Rabastan seemingly has been thawing my heart all this time, without me even knowing. It's curious, but when Ginny said the word love, and I paused to think about it I knew it was true. I do love Rabastan._

 _I don't know if I should, it still feels like a betrayal but I must remind myself that Harry and Ron are gone. If Ginny can give me her blessing knowing we are all trying to find happiness in this dark world, then I need to allow myself to accept it. I'm scared though, loving Ron was safe, easy. Loving Rabastan, I already know it's much more treacherous, and it will be difficult. Passionate relationships usually are._

 _That said I know that I still want to give it a chance. Why is it that the things that attract the heart are oftentimes the most painful, dangerous and hard? Why does love have to hurt so much?_

Hermione closed the diary and tucked it back into its hiding place. Then with the fluttering of a thousand tiny butterflies in the pit of her stomach she rose from the desk and strode from her chambers to her husband's study.

He looked up from the papers he was studying when she opened the door, a worried expression on his handsome features. His eyes roamed her face, body clearly looking for any visible signs of harm or distress, and finding nothing wrong, smiled slowly.

"Ma Cherie, is everything alright?" He asked, rising from his seat and crossing the room towards her. Hermione closed the door and without a moment's hesitation sprang into his arms and pressed her lips to his. Rabastan recovered from the sudden shock and he deepened the kiss immediately.

Breathless, minutes later, Hermione broke the kiss and came up for air. "Everything is fine," She told him a slow blush forming on her cheeks as she smiled slyly.

"I guess so," He remarked. "I wonder what brought all that on though. Not that I'm complaining mind you."

"I've come to the realization that I am in love with you Bas," Hermione stated with a nervous grimace.

"You love me? But…" Rabastan cut off no doubt wondering how.

"The circumstances that led me to this are irrelevant Bas," Hermione insisted. "I love you, I've grown to love you and even though this life isn't what I would have chosen for myself, I am glad to say it is my life."

"You are an amazing witch Hermione Granger."

"I believe it is Lestrange," she corrected.

"Lestrange," he repeated. "Come here witch," he ordered. Hermione beamed as she leaned up and captured his lips again.

"I want you," she whispered to him softly. "Take me to bed husband." Rabastan only too happily obliged.


	17. How Strong is One Bond?

**A/N: Hey Guys I'm back with an update. As always, thanks for the reviews, favorites, follows and everything. Enjoy.**

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How Strong is One Bond?

"Oh, Gods... Bas Please," Hermione mewled for the third time in as many minutes. Her husband was torturing her slowly as he languished slow, passionate kisses down her whole body.

"Please what ma Cherie?" He whispered tantalizingly.

"Bas!"

"Use your words, love," He chided her, slipping her nipple into her mouth and sucking on it.

"Please just fuck me already," Hermione whined.

"Oh, Love. Sorry, no can do. I'm not nearly through worshipping your body yet." Rabstan stopped all further argument by sliding down her body and burrowing his face between her thighs. His witch panted from above him as her pleasured her with his tongue and he smirked as he brought her over the edge.

"Enough worship," she commanded pulling him up with a firm grip on his hair. "Fuck me now."

"As my witch commands," he grinned and thrust his aching cock home. They groaned collectively as he bottomed out inside of her. Rabastan sped up his pace, building a wonderful rythym as he plunged in and pulled back from her hot, tight sheath. "Fuck," he breathed. "Your pussy is so tight love. Feels so good."

"Harder Bas," she whispered. Soon the only sounds filling the room was the slapping of flesh on flesh mingled with muffled moans and heavy breathing. Sweat dripped down their bodies as Rabastan claimed his witch's lips in a heated kiss.

"Oh, I'm going to come," she mewled beneath him so Rabastan pressed his thumb to her clit and rubbed. "Rabastan!" Hermione screamed as she tumbled over the edge of bliss. Two more deep thrusts and he was spilling himself inside of her. Sated, he collapsed on his side and tugged his wife to him, wrapping an arm around her. The bedroom smelled deliciously of sex as they spoke sweet, tender words to one another.

* * *

Quite a while later, Hermione returned to her own chambers intent on packing her belongs and transferring them into Rabastan's rooms. Well their rooms, she supposed now. With the heartfelt confession of love, her husband revisited the idea of sharing their quarters and this time she agreed. Naturally, her personal quarters were still available for her use. Her sitting room would be used as her study and she planned to revamp her bedroom into an area for her and the girls to do yoga. However, from now on out she would be sharing a room, a bed, with Rabastan.

She had mixed emotions on the subject. Giddy excitement bubbled at the surface of her emotions, as only love had a way of doing, but she also was slightly nerve wrecked and dubious. In her own quarters, she had a space to get away from the situation. At night in her own bed, she was free to reflect on the events of everything her life was becoming and cry about her losses if she needed to. If she were to sleep with the wizard who often was gentle and caring and sweet towards her yet could so easily shift into a reminder of the atrocities he was capable of she would lose that gift of quiet meditation.

While she could summon one of the house elves to do the packing for her, Hermione opted instead to do the work herself. Charming her clothes to fold themselves into a trunk and pack themselves she watched on while writing in her diary of her doubts and fears as her relationship with Rabastan developed.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _It's official, I relayed my sentiments to Bas and revel in the knowledge that they are returned in equal measure. We jointly decided that the next action should be to combine our bedrooms. I sit here now magically packing my wardrobe and toiletries into a trunk which I will soon cart into the adjoining chambers that are now my new shared quarters. While the idea of taking this next step with him is exhilarating I can't help but to feel like I'm somehow losing something as well. I'm gaining so much more so don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful for the progress that has been made. It's just that the more the relationship grows the more dependent on it I become. Not in a physical sense, I'm an independent and capable witch, but rather emotionally dependent. I've always been one to take comfort in solitude, as a child I had no friends, my first months in Hogwarts were rough until I found the best and most true friends imaginable. But even then I sometimes needed to get away. Books have always been the easiest and loyal companion and between them and my own company, I am content. I believe that, as I become closer to Rabastan, I will turn towards him and voice my feelings aloud rather than contemplate them quietly on my own. This in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it opens a whole new can of worms._

 _How strong is one bond of two souls? Can it withstand all of the darkness? Rabastan, no matter how much I wish it were not so, has a side of him I can not and never will be able to condone. I can forgive the misdeeds he has committed up to this point knowing how he was raised. I may even be able to disassociate myself from any future horrors he will inflict on innocents in the name of his master, but I will still know. Can a bond make up for the fact that morally we are still at war with each other? Or is this a star-crossed love? Truthfully I am afraid that I will be hurt in the end by choices he will make. If only I could find some way to give him the courage to defy his master. I want to live happily and at peace with him, but the reign of a monster makes it impossible to do so. For now, I'm going to enjoy what time I can and no matter what not give up on winning Rabastan over._

 _Regards,_

 _Hermione_

Hermione closed the leather bound journal and tucked it away once again. Completely packed she cast a strong levitating and moblicorpus charm to pull her trunk behind her and into her new chambers. Rabastan wasn't back yet, so Hermione took the time to manually unpack her trunk into the shared wardrobe space with her husband. As she was finishing up the wizard of the hour returned.

"You know," He mused "One of the things I love about you is that you have all of these elves at your disposal and yet you still unpack your own belongings." Rabastan's tone was one of genuine amusement and awe.

"Well, you know me," Hermione grinned. "I can't help myself."

"No, I suppose you can't. Are you all settled in then?"

"Uh, Yes, I guess."

"You guess?" Rabastan smile diminished somewhat as his eyes appraised her in concern.

"Yeah, I mean it was just unpacking clothes, right? Not much to settle in for," Hermione attempted to smooth over the sudden tension in the air. Unfortunately, her Slytherin husband saw through it.

"You're nervous," He remarked.

"What?"

"You're nervous. You don't know what to make about moving in here with me."

"Oh Bas, no," Hermione said. "I mean yes, you are right. I am nervous, but not because I don't want to sleep in the same room as you. I've just, I don't know. I'm used to being on my own. Its an entirely new experience for me."

"I understand." He said as he approached her. "It is new for me as well."

"You mean..." Hermione gaped at her husband. Rabastan was so experienced, so knowledgeable about intimacy then she was.

"I've never shared my bed with anybody before, Ma Cherie." He confessed. "I've slept with my fair share of women, but of the few that were fortunate enough to be brought here, none stayed for the night. You are the first witch I've slept next to, and the only one I ever want to."

"Oh Bas," Hermione sighed softly, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "I'm touched. I think this will just be a learning curve for us both. Hermione curled her arms around her husband and titled her head up. Rising to her tiptoes she brushed her lips across his.


	18. What Does The Dark Lord Want?

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for your patience. I meant to have this chapter up yesterday but time got away from between work, and appointment and the pages of a really good book. So here it is today instead. I hope you all enjoy and as always want to thank you all for your support.**

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What Does The Dark Lord Want?

Three blissfully happy days spent in the arms, and bed, of her husband were dampened by an unexpected and wholly unwelcome guest that Friday evening. The couple had barley left each other's embrace long enough to eat the trays that House elves kept delivering to them in their room and now they were forced to leave their sanctuary to attend a formal dinner with the worst possible company imaginable.

It was the head house elf who barged in bearing the ill-fated news. "Mipsey is sorry master and mistress, buts there is a wizard downstairs demanding your presence immediately." Hermione and Rabastan exchanged a concerned glance a moment before he clutched his left forearm face contorted in a painful grimace. He didn't need to tell her who it was, they both already knew.

"Thank you Mipsey," Hermione dismissed. Rabastan made short work of dressing in his dark death eater robes and Hermione watched, her heart breaking, as his features hardened in to what she considered his cruel death eater appearance. It sent shivers down her spine to see him this way. His eyes softened a moment, as if saddened to leave her, before he swept swiftly from their chamber and went to meet his master.

She sighed heavily as she too rose from the bed and made her way to the shower. There was no way that she would be meeting that monster basked in the afterglow of her love for her husband nor in her nightclothes. So as quickly as she could she cleansed her body and donned a crimson dress from the wardrobe before she also descended the staircase to stand by her husband. When she arrived she hovered outside the slightly ajar door to witness the sight of her husband rising slowly to his feet, gaunt of complexion and as if in great pain. She clenched her teeth knowing what he had endured.

"I trust next time Rabassstan," The hissing voice of the snake skinned wizard sounded from inside the drawing room, "that next time you will not ignore my call." Hermione held back an audible gasp. When did Rabastan ignore a summons?

"I am sorry my lord," her husband groaned out. "I know I should not have ignored a summons my lord but I'm afraid I was so caught up in fucking my wife I couldn't bring myself to respond. It's no excuse of course, and I will not allow it to happen again."

"Ssssseee that you do not," replied the monster coldly. "Sssspeaking of your delectable little wife, she is sssstanding right outside the door. Do come in my dear Madame Lessstrange." Hermione bristled at the use of her formal title but entered the room not wanting to know how Voldemort had known she was there. Her dress robes showed her slightly rounding belly and Hermione steeled herself to maintain an air of despisement. It would be putting her beloved husband at greater risk if she were to slip up and reveal her care and worry for him. Therefore, instead reaching out to him she stood at least an arms length away from him, if not more. her arms were crossed over her chest and she stared at the wizard before her defiance shining in her chocolate orbs. The dark lord laughed with an eerie, malicious grin.

Hermione knew that what happened next was only for show, which she kept telling herself to avoid becoming angry. Rabastan grabbed her tightly by the arm and dragged her until she was taught against his body his arms imprisoning her in their embrace. "Bow to your master wife," he spat tersely at her forcing her head down. "How many times have I told you bitch, to be hospitable to our guests and respect your betters?"

"Good evening my lord," Hermione whimpered as if afraid of her husband. Voldemort didn't reply to her, instead he addressed Rabastan.

"Let her go Rabassssstan," he hissed. Rabastan dropped his hold on her immediately, not brave enough to risk a quick reassuring squeeze before doing so.

Hermione was compelled to stand before the dark lord in the next instant. She fought the strain of the imperious curse, but the heavy, laden ocean that was her blank, feather light mind was too weak to stand against the dark lord. Her feet had moved her to stand before him before she even knew what she was doing. Hermione's conscious, which was aware of what was occurring but unable to do anything about it, panicked when the realization that this wizard could command her to do anything and she would be helpless. However, as fast as the curse had struck it abated and Hermione regained her will.

"My dear Madame Lesssstrange," Voldemort spoke softly. "How I enjoy your revulsion and disssobedience. Your spirit remains intact no matter what circumssstance I throw you in."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but you will never break my spirit," Hermione taunted changing up the old muggle children's phrase. Voldemort grabbed her chin and squeezed it an amused smirk stretched across his ugly, nose less face.

"If I wanted to break you," He replied as he tightened his grip on her chin "I would have given you to the likes Of Macnair or Mulciber. No, No my dear you are of use to me."

"I won't help you," Hermione spat. The monster simply shrugged dismissing her comment.

"Today perhaps. But it would be rather a waste to dispose of your brilliance. Mark my words one day you will be of great use to me and your petty revulsion now won't matter." He let go of her and she backed away slowly. "Did you really think, my dear, that I would go through all the trouble to conform you into pureblood if I didn't have some plan for you?" Hermione shivered despite her resolve. She had never thought about it that way. The icy truth sank deep into her soul as she became completely aware that it made perfect sense. Of course he had only changed the laws because he had a reason to do so. Why else wouldn't he have just killed her or worse enslaved her like many of her friends.

"I suppose you wouldn't have bothered if you didn't have a reason. I chose not to dwell on what your motives were," She told the star of her nightmares directly to his face. His return laughter both surprised her and sent shivers down her spine.

"Anything is better than a cold and unforgiving fortressss in the sea isn't it?" Voldemort shot back at her. She gasped at the reminder of her time in Azkaban and looked up sharply. That was a mistake because as her chocolate hued eyes met the red snake-like slits of the dark lord she felt the unmistakable pull of legilimency. Hermione had attempted to learn occlumency back when they were fighting the war, but she never grasped it well. Given time and the proper tutalge she was certain she would have been accomplished with the art, however, on the run that wasn't a possibility. Therefore, because of the surprise attack and her frightfully weak shields she stood no chance as the monster entered her mind. His technique was forceful, but not painful. Instead the element that disturbed her was his ability to make her relive the memories he flipped so casually through. It was like she was in the thrice damned hellhole again.

When he finally released her, Hermione collapsed. She waited to hit the floor but didn't when two strong arms wrapped around her instead. Rabastan.

"Quick acting Rabassssstan," Voldemort hissed. "Wouldn't want to harm the baby now would we?" Oh Godric, Hermione thought paling, the baby. "How far along are you now Madame?" When she didn't respond him Voldemort raised his wand and used a incantation to answer his own question. It was her husband who interpreted the results aloud.

"Twelve weeks," he muttered.

"Ah, almost at an end of the first trimessster," the dark lord clapped gleefully. Hermione bit her cheek. She wanted to know exactly what this monster wanted with her and her child.

"Would you honor us by staying for dinner My Lord?" Rabastan inquired a moment later after settling Hermione into a conjured chair and proceeding to ignore her."

"Yes I rather think I shall," Voldemort replied thoughtfully. "Unless Madame Lessstrange objects?" The question wasn't open ended, it was a test. The monster came into her life and terrorized her, attempting to rile her up into lashing out and tempt her to retaliating against him. She would be damned if she gave him the satisfaction. Not only for herself either. No, if she attacked the dark lord it would affect her husband to. She was awarded to Bass but she knew the dark lord still intended for him to treat her poorly. She wouldn't give away that she had broken through to him instead.

"No, of course not. Please do stay for dinner My Lord," She replied summoning every ounce of calm she could. "I'll just go inform the elves we will be having Company."

"I trust Madame that you will inform your husbands other prizes as well. Misses Weasley and Lovegood?" Hermione tensed.

"If you wish to dine with them My lord, I will arrange it."

"You do that," Voldemort replied dismissively. Hermione quickly removed herself from the room. As she prepared herself for the evening ahead her thoughts turned to the dark lord's motives. What did he want?


	19. How Does One Wine and Dine a Dark Lord?

**A/N: I'm so sorry for how long it has been since I've updated. I've been rather busy with life lately and haven't had the time or energy to put much effort into writing. Hopefully that lull has passed and I can get back on a regular update schedule. Thank you all for your patience, and your reviews. I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

 **How does one wine and dine a Dark Lord?**

Discerning that she would not be seeing her husband before dinner, Hermione forced herself not to think of him. She first made her way down to the kitchens, surprising the house elves busy at work by her sudden appearance. The elves were all skeptical of her; some knowing of her reputation of founding the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare (more commonly referred to as SPEW) while others were simply wary of her politeness. Sensing their immediate apprehension at her intrusion Hermione gave her best effort at being a firm mistress.

"There has been a change in plans. The Dark Lord will be dining with us tonight, pull out all the stops and provide your best presentation."

"Yes Mistress," the lead kitchen elf squeaked.

"Good, I'll leave you to it then," Hermione replied before making a swift exit. She could have cut the tension in there with a knife, and it was a relief once she made it back down the hall. She climbed the marvelous staircase until she reached the adjoining rooms that Ginny and Luna shared. Hermione didn't bother to knock before entering. Her Blonde friend looked up from where she sat gazing out a window and the redhead witch raised an eyebrow from the table where she was playing solitaire.

"Hermione," Luna greeted in her usual gentle and spacey, dreamlike tone. Hermione smiled tightly. "Uh, oh, what's wrong?"

"I'm afraid I come bearing bad news."

"Is it the baby?" Ginny asked fearfully before taking in Hermione's still very present baby bump.

"No, No, the baby is fine," Hermione reassured pondering how to break the news. She couldn't say what she wanted to say without endangering everything she cared about. "The Dark Lord will be joining us for dinner tonight and has ordered all of our attendance at the meal."

Ginny narrowed her eyes taking in Hermione's worried gaze. "What does he want with two slaves?" She said catching on quickly to the necessity for the sudden roleplay.

"I haven't the foggiest clue, but whatever it is… It is essential that you mind your places." Hermione hated herself for saying but both her friends nodded that they understood the hidden message in her words.

"What should we wear?" Chimed Luna.

"Whatever you think appropriate for dinner with the dark Lord," Hermione answered. "Nothing too fancy, I suppose."

"Hermione, what is that on your neck?" Ginny asked as Hermione turned to leave their room.

"Nothing," she said.

"It's not nothing! That is a bruise! Did that bastard lay hands on you?"

"Ginny! Please, it's nothing." Hermione pleaded silently for her friend to understand that it wasn't what it looked like. The fiery witch remained skeptical and worked up but didn't push the matter. Hermione closed the door behind her as she left and made her way to her own chambers.

Once she was alone, she sank into a chair and allowed the anxiety she had been holding back out. While it was a relief to release the overwhelming emotions, the perplexity of her worries and thoughts were difficult to handle.

She summoned her diary from the drawer she kept it safely tucked away. She began an entry.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _This will seem awfully a silly question I'm sure. But how exactly do you wine and dine a dark lord? Rather, how do you eat at the same table as one responsible for all of your suffering and those of your loved ones? How do you pretend civility in his presence when all I want to do is hex him into oblivion? I know doing so isn't possible. Such an act would only serve to hurt my husband, because he would either have to put in a solid effort to punish me for my audacity, or he would be punished for not acting._

 _Likely it would be both, he would be punished for not controlling me well enough and then forced to punish me. I know he doesn't want to harm me, but he wouldn't have a choice if I acted on my desire to attack Voldemort. However, I'm not sure I can bring myself to fake politeness. Rabastan put on a show this afternoon in front of the monster. He grabbed me tightly and forced me to bow before him, after I stood arms crossed glaring at the thing._

 _I'm certain the monster doesn't expect me to be docile and fawn over his presence, he knows who I am, which side I fought for and where my loyalties still stand. However it seems as though he does expect me to be somehow grateful to him, as though I'm indebted to him for my survival. In a way I suppose I am though I'd never admit it aloud. He could have killed me. I could have perished violently and excruciatingly at his hands or the hands of his most loyal. Instead he threw me into a freezing, miserable cell to rot for a year. I give credit to my true savior, Bass took me away from that hell and has cared for me, ahs loved me and protected me. He has shared with me his darkest secrets and I have seen where his heart lies. However, even I'm not disinclined to believe that I am here only at the mercy of the monster sitting in my drawing room. I'm only here because, as he said, he has some use for me. I hadn't truly thought about it but why would he go through the effort to change the law to recognize my blood as pure?_

 _I'm scared by what his plan could be, for whatever it is it isn't good. He seems so focused on my pregnancy… I fear his plans involve my baby somehow. He's mad if he thinks that I will allow him anywhere near my child. Yet, I don't know how I could stop him from taking what he wants. I suppose that we will find out more as we dine with him tonight. Now I must go an play at being a perfect pureblood wife and hostess to entertain him._

As Hermione put her diary away she heard rustling coming from her shared bedroom with Rabastan. Knowing she needed to change her dress and worried for him she quickly opened the door. Bass startled at her sudden entrance.

"Are you alright?" they both asked at the same moment, before slowly grinning at the coincidence.

"I'm sorry ma Cherie, I had to make it seem like we weren't close for the sake of protecting you." Her Husband added.

"I know Bass," Hermione replied softly, caressing his cheek. "I know, and I'm fine. How are you my love? I know the signs of the cruciatus when I see them?"

"It's nothing I've never had before, wife. I'm alright. Now I have only moments to change before serving brandy in the drawing room to our lord. You should dress in a nice gown as well. What time is dinner?"

"The elves assure me dinner will be on the table promptly at seven-thirty. I have instructed them to put in their best efforts. I'll be damned if a surprise visit is going to make us appear meagre and unorganized." Rabastan smirked at her adamancy.

"You are always finding new way to surprise me witch," he said slyly. "I'll see you right before we dine then." He quickly finished pulling on a fresh pair of trousers and added a lined suit jacket to his white oxford shirt. Then with a quick kiss to her forehead he departed the room, leaving Hermione to get ready alone.


	20. At What Point Does Composure Fail You?

**A/N: My apologies for the delay dear readers, I had hoped to get this out on Friday but had a rather busy week at work and a full weekend. Anyways, as always thank you for you continued support and enjoy.**

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Hermione huffed softly as she descended the staircase. Her husband was engaged in a private discussion with Voldemort over pre-dinner cocktails and she was left to attend to the details herself. It was five minutes to seven when dinner was to be promptly served, and Hermione wished not for the first time that evening that she could have a drink herself. Blast the pregnancy for killing her chance at that. Arriving at the closed double doors to the formal dining room they almost never used, she found Ginny and Luna already waiting outside.

"The elves don't appear to let anybody in until all guests are ready to be seated," Ginny muttered. Hermione shrugged in reply. She was impressed that both of her friends dressed up slightly. Neither witch went out of their way but they both looked put together in wizarding robes over a skirt and blouse. Hermione had selected a casual gold colored dress and had donned an elegant black wizarding robe over it.

"You look beautiful Hermione," Luna complimented. "And look, you're showing in that."

"Indeed I am," Hermione responded purposefully having selected the gown to show her baby bump. She had a nagging thought that The dark lord would want to see it and she refused to lift up her dress to show him. "Thank you, Luna. You both look quite nice as well." It was now two minutes until dinner and the door to Rabastan's study still had not opened.

"Bippy," Hermione called one of the kitchen elves.

"Yes Mistress," he asked popping in with a crack.

"Is dinner still on schedule?"

"It is Mistress, all finished and ready for serving."

"Thank you," Hermione replied. "Please go and inform my husband that it is time to move into the dining room." Bippy nodded and popped out without reply. Moments later the door opened and Rabastan emerged followed by Hermione' worst enemy.

"Ah, Madame Lestrange," he hissed, "I hope I've not put you to too much trouble for dinner this evening." It was an insincere comment that she wisely chose to ignore.

"No trouble at all my Lord. Shall we go through?" As she asked the doors opened of their own accord and she gestured for the monster to go ahead. Rabastan took Hermione's arm and led her in next and Ginny and Luna followed. As she approached the chair Rabastan walked her to it moved out for her to sit easily. Once she settled it pushed back in and the others sat also.

"It seems Madame Lestrange is the only one who is deigned the courtesy of having the chair's move out for her of their own accord," Voldemort spoke from across the table. Since it was a relatively small gathering he had opted to sit at the head of the table with Rabastan and Hermione on his right and Ginny and Luna on his left.

"It is because she is pregnant, My Lord," her husband explained. "The house elves take extra care where she is concerned as they always have for the mistress of the house when with child."

Hermione knew the elves would not show themselves when a formal dinner was taking place, so she was unsurprised when the wine goblets automatically filled with a vintage red, except for her's of course. Her's was filled with an apple cidar she seemed to favor lately. Only moments later platters of meats, potatoes, vegetables and desserts appeared before them all.

"You honor us with your presence in our home this evening, My Lord," Hermione said forcing herself to hold back the sarcastic tone and to keep a straight face.

"Ah, Rabastan, I see you found a moment to chastise your dear wife for her antics earlier," the snake faced wizard replied ignoring her completely. "As now she seems so cordial and hospitable."

"Indeed, my Lord. We had a discussion about her unbecoming behavior." Rabastan said as he piled his and Hermione's plates full of food. Hermione caught Ginny's look at his action and frowned in response. "Of course, nothing was done that would harm my child."

"Indeed I would hope not," the other wizard commented. "I see your other prizes you've acquired are in fair condition. Do they no longer please you? Should I award them to someone else?"

"I find that my little wife attends to all my needs and I do not require their services, My Lord. However, I won them from a lucky hand in poker and the fool that would bet his war prizes on a game of cards now realizes what a loser he is indeed. I do keep them around because they appease my wife. I find that so long as she looks after them and behaves herself that their presence does not disturb me."

"Is this true, Madame?" Voldemort inquired, addressing Hermione for the first time since the sat at the table. "Do these pets amuse you?" Hermione bit her tongue to keep from spitting out a retort. He knew full well that they were friends, but she didn't want to risk having them removed from her care."

"It is nice to have them to keep me occupied when my husband is working. The days can be long here in the manor when left alone. in my condition I can't tour the grounds or gardens without aide and while it's my favorite pastime, reading does not provide the benefits of conversation, My Lord." He laughed coldly at her statement.

"No, I don't suppose it does," He replied eventually. "Very well Madame, Rabastan, I shall allow you to keep your pets. It is unfortunate that my other followers see fit to gamble away my gifts to them." Hermione breathed a soft sigh of relief and felt Rabastan's thigh brush against her own in an effort to reassure her.

"You should eat Madame," scolded Voldemort, "you are after all eating for two now."

"Thank you, My Lord," Rabastan replied as Hermione lifted a fork to her mouth. "Your concern for my child and my wife's health is appreciated."

"Which brings me to the nature of my visit," remarked the other wizard. "I'm sure your bright mind has already figured out there was a reason for my being here."

"Of course, I knew there was a reason," Hermione retorted calmly. "I just couldn't figure out what it might be."

"I require Your child as my heir," Voldemort stated nonchalantly and Hermione's blood ran cold at his words. She wondered in that moment where the line in the sand was drawn for her ability to maintain her composure. She had a nagging suspicion that it had been crossed now.


End file.
